Clash of Fates II
by Bob DeFrank
Summary: As the Battle of Endor draws near, Thrawn and the Yuuzhan Vong wage a war for control of the Unknown Regions
1. Default Chapter Title

Clash of Fates, Part Two  
Bob DeFrank  
DFRANC@Prodigy.Net  
Catagory: The Rebellion  
Keywords: Vergere, Thrawn, Vong, Anor  
Spoilers: Vision of the Future, Vector Prime, Dark Tide: Ruin,   
Rogue Planet  
Rating: PG-13, violence, nothing graphic  
  
Summary: As the Battle of Endor draws near, another struggle for   
the galaxy's future is at stake. Grand Admiral Thrawn and the   
Yuuzhan Vong are aware of one another, and have begun a war for   
control of the Unknown Regions. Thrawn and the Executor both   
wage this war in their own way, but it will be the actions of a lone  
Jedi Knight, a psychotic TIE fighter pilot and an innocent native of  
a conquered world who will decide the outcome.  
  
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created   
and owned by George Lucas, Timothy Zahn, Michael A.   
Stackpole, R.A. Salvatore and Greg Bear. No money is being   
made and no infringement is intended.  
  
Author's Note: Most of this duology was written before Hero's   
Trial by James Luceno was published, I therefore had only vague   
ideas of Vergere?s appearence, personality and position. Some   
liberties were taken, artistic license and all, and I will have to alter   
the concluding chapters to place Vergere where she is at the start   
of Hero's Trial. I am confident I can make it work, though, as I   
faced a similar crisis when I first began this story: I was in the   
middle of Chapter Two, Part One, when I read Rogue Planet by   
Greg Bear, which is what put Verger in my story in the first place.  
  
Chapter One  
  
Sang Anor gaped his mouth open and allowed the gnullith   
to snake it's tube down his throat while it's starfish limbs sealed   
around his face. The air in the subterranean caverns was   
supposedly clean of disease, but he was taking no chances. Nom   
Anor, similarly attired, held his hand up inches away from the   
coral wall. A slender tendril protruded from the living seal, it   
unsheathed a needle-stinger and stabbed through the ooglith   
cloaker that covered the young Vong's hand to taste his blood.   
Recognizing the one before it as authorized to enter, the orifice   
opened and the two Yuuzhan Vong stepped into the tunnel beyond.  
  
  
The seal snapped closed almost the instant they were   
through. Nothing in this place would be permitted to escape, and   
the ooglith cloakers both Vong wore kept them safe from   
infection. Dozens of large caves lines either side of the tunnel, all   
of which were sealed with walls of clear gel, hardened until it was   
strong as transparisteel.  
  
The tunnel was lit by lumin bugs that crawled along the   
high ceiling and the thermal energy given off by the crasso   
fungus on the rocky floor made caverns that would have been   
coated with ice instead merely chilly. The world the infidels   
called Sevac III had another use than as a seed world: the   
subterranean caverns in the arctic poles were idea for housing   
some of the Shapers' more 'sensitive' material. Pathogens that   
Sang Anor was uncomfortable keeping onboard the worldship in   
their experimental stage.  
  
If, by any chance, the hosts carrying the microscopic spores   
escaped their containment the sub-zero weather and lack of life for   
hundreds of miles in any direction all but guaranteed they would   
not infect the coral fields growing far to the south.  
  
The many small side-caves in the main tunnel were not   
natural, but had been shaped by acids excreted from some of the   
Vong's creatures. Each 'cell' was large enough to comfortably   
house one being.  
  
'Comfortable' being a subjective term.  
  
A little over half the cells were occupied by various   
sentient species, beings the Yuuzhan Vong had taken prisoner   
before setting up shop on this planet. Humans, Miashku, Torgols,   
a few others, each species held widely different traits, but one   
common thread linked them: they were dying.  
  
Some had disgusting boils and growths on their bodies. A   
human's limbs were so twisted he could barely move, and would   
have been howling in agony if his lungs weren't slowly collapsing   
in his chest. Some lay on their backs and moaned in delirium   
while others reeled and staggered around the room in psychotic   
rages.  
  
  
One fur-covered being had torn ragged gashes in it's face   
and body with it's own sharp claws, striking at insects it could feel   
under it's skin, and on seeing the two Yuuzhan Vong it roared and   
hurled itself at the gel wall again and again, leaving bloody stains   
on the surface. Neither Sang Anor nor his son paid the thing any   
mind.  
  
The Shapers had taken the ones who were already dead to   
the tunnels below, and were engaged in taking them apart a little at   
a time to find out if the pathogens had worked as they were   
designed to.  
  
This was no place for warriors, but Sang Anor felt slightly   
relieved to get away from the worldship. Since his failed attempt   
on Admiral Thrawn's life had resulted in the deaths of three   
warriors including Hren Silra, one of his best operatives, his life   
had become intolerably difficult. Besides all the planning for a   
campaign that the future of the invasion could very well hinge on,   
he had been beset with more private concerns as well.  
  
His condolences had gone out to Hren Silra's wives and   
children, with full ceremonies to make up for the inability to   
recover his body. That didn't keep his door from nearly being   
broken down by five very angry Yuuzhan Vong females and all   
their respective children above the feenir stage demanding to be   
put on a ship and sent out to avenge the death of their lord and   
recover his body for proper immolation.  
  
Of course, since two of the wives were yet with child they   
demanded that the others bring back the perpetrators alive as well   
so they could share in tearing them apart. In many ways, Yuuzhan   
Vong females were even more bloodthirsty than the males.  
  
Sang Anor had vetoed this proposal, naturally, and there   
was little they could do about it aside from take up more of his   
valuable time. As Executor, he had final say in all familial matters   
between the Yuuzhan Vong in this galaxy, and even the priests had   
to bow to his judgement. He had the authority to delay, pause or   
even call off a blood-debt of any kind between families, and they?d   
had no choice but to but their feud aside. But after placating this   
branch of Domain Silra, there was still two other families to deal   
with.  
  
  
Blood feuds between families and divisions of families had   
always been a problem for the Yuuzhan Vong, and had stopped   
them from uniting to dominate their own galaxy for countless   
centuries, despite all the efforts of the priests. In the end, it had   
taken the Cremlevian Wars and the legendary Yo'gand's victory to   
settle this dispute and make it clear that familial matters were   
secondary to serving the Yuuzhan Vong race as a whole.  
  
At the end of the tunnel there was another seal, which   
opened and closed the same way. Beyond it was a larger series of   
tunnels and chambers, and enclosed within those chambers...was a   
greenhouse.  
  
Beneath the snow-heaped surface, plants from hundreds of   
worlds back in Home Galaxy thrived in climates ranging from   
desert to tropic. The soil in each gel-sealed chamber was different,   
as was the light they basked in, for the lumin bugs in each chamber   
glowed with a different light of the spectrum just as the moss   
raised the temperature to a different degree in each.  
  
"Very impressive," the gnullith vibrated and reproduced his   
voice in the air, "but are many of them are ready for use in real   
conditions?"  
  
"For the most part, I would say yes." Nom Anor walked   
along the gel-sealed caves. "The gulo spores, certainly." He   
indicated the plump growths at the bottom of a scum-lined pond.   
"But the mwre and seeln might not take." He went on, explaining   
how each of the diseases reacted on various hosts and in the   
different environments the Shapers simulated. Sang Anor listened   
with half his attention, cataloging and filing what he said.  
  
A small smile crept across his hidden face as he saw Nom   
Anor's eyes flash with excitement. In many ways, the young Vong   
took after his mother, and that did not displease Sang Anor.   
Although Lyrra Anor had been a Shaper, she was as vicious as any   
warrior when her blood was up. His eyes grew distant as his wife   
appeared in his mind's eye, her body a glorious masterpiece of   
lacerations and tattoos. She had given him his favorite scars, and   
it was in times like these he saw her in Nom Anor.  
  
It had pleased him that his son would show such a strong   
aptitude for his mother's work. Of course most Yuuzhan Vong   
males are expected to be warriors, the Executor's son most of all.   
Truthfully, a Yuuzhan Vong male who chose to become a Shaper   
was generally considered less of a man, and so the shaping of   
spores was officially just Nom Anor's hobby. Unofficially he was   
probably more skilled than any Shaper in this galaxy.  
  
  
Sang Anor grimaced as he realized he was close to sighing   
like a smooth-skinned youngling. Instead he remembered how he   
had found her three years ago and fury nearly choked him. The   
Jedi had ruined his schemes more than once, and that was the least   
of the hurts she had done him.  
  
By now she had undoubtably told Grand Admiral Thrawn   
everything she knew about the Yuuzhan Vong, jeaprodizing the   
entire invasion. His eyes narrowed as he recalled his report to the   
Overlord via his villip, at how close he had come to being feed for   
the Vong creatures himself. It had taken some fast talking to   
convince the Overlord that all blame lay at the feet of Sang Anor's   
predecessor, the original Executor, in allowing Vergere to escape   
in the first place.  
  
Not that he had cried out his innocence and said straight-  
out that it wast he other's fault, of course, that would only have   
made Sang Anor appear all the more incompetent and   
dishonorable. No, he had only given the bare facts, but in just the   
right way and with the proper inflections and emphasis to make it   
'clear' that Sang Anor himself was faultless. After which he had   
put forward his plan to deal with the infidel threat, to which the   
Overlord had reluctantly agreed.  
  
Sang Anor's eyes gleamed. He could yet survive, and   
more, he could gain the power and rank he craved: to be the master   
of this galaxy, bowing only to the Overlord. And who knows,   
perhaps become the Overlord himself one day...  
  
"-so it is these eight that have the best chance at success."   
Nom Anor finished. "Fast, large-scale infection and all but   
incurable." He strode back to the Executor's side.  
  
"I will have the Shapers prepare samples to be taken to the   
worldship." Sang Anor watched with cold eyes above the starfish   
arms. "You have all that is needed to replicate them onboard?"   
Nom Anor nodded. "Good." Prefect Ke'Nass, along with his   
supporters, had been transferred to the surface of the seed world to   
begin their own important mission: quelling the primitive natives.   
Sang Anor could be confident in proceeding without the Prefect's   
bumbling.   
  
He surveyed the chambers and all the many deaths they   
held, and lifted his hand to clasp his son's shoulder. "We can   
begin in earnest."  



	2. Default Chapter Title

Chapter Two  
  
The Admonitor was towed to the orbiting shipyard   
where the space-station's tractor beams could latch onto it and haul   
the Imperial Star Destroyer into the berth. Seated in his Captain's   
chair, Voss Parck put on a brave front for the crew of his crippled   
flagship.  
  
The Star Destroyer had managed a brief hyperspace jump   
out of the Miashku system, allowing the ship to depart with dignity   
fitting the Empire's best. And had reentered realspace once they   
were far enough to be out of sensor range and were met by two   
other Destroyers that towed them into Kamark sector, an area of   
the Unknown Regions controlled by the Empire.  
  
The techs had yet to discover the full range of damage done   
to the ship by a team of agents that had been sent to assassinate the   
Grand Admiral and lay the blame on the human faction of the   
fleet, destroying the Empire's alliance with the Chiss and reversing   
the gains made in this region of space. Parck grimaced as the   
lights and monitors flickered and blinked around him. He didn't   
know much about these "Yuuzhan Vong," as the Jedi had called   
them, but he did know it had taken four of them, just four, to   
cripple the proudest ship of Unity Fleet, and no one had even   
known what was going on.  
  
He had also taken a look at the two alien corpses, and had   
seen what they had done to an Imperial doctor and one of the   
elite Royal Guard, supposedly the best in the Empire.  
  
He felt the ship shudder beneath him, and knew they had   
settled in the shipway before the crewer at the monitors told him as   
much. "We're also getting a communication from the Moff. It's   
garbled but it sounds like a greeting."  
  
"Very good." Parck stood and addressed his first officer.   
"You can begin disembarking the crew. I will meet with Moff   
Niriz on the station. I'm sure he will agree to allowing the crew   
shore leave on Orrsa." He glanced at the blue-green world beyond   
the shipyard and space station. Orrsa was center of government   
for Kamark sector, the first sector to come under Imperial control   
out here, and so arguably the most important. Parck had guessed   
correctly that the Moff would want to meet with him as soon as   
possible, without even waiting for Park to go planetside to the   
government building there. "Notify me in case of emergency."  
  
  
*************************************  
"What have you done to my ship?" Was the first thing out   
of Moff Niriz's mouth when Parck stepped out of his shuttle in the   
private docking bay in the space station's tower.  
  
"We're not sure, Your Excellency." Parck answered   
frankly. "Most, if not all of the systems are inoperative. The   
parasites seem unable to reproduce and most of them have already   
died out by now, but they get around fast and the damage they   
caused was extensive."  
  
Niriz shook his head and leaned back in his hoverchair.   
"Worms brought down my Star Destroyer. Worms! I don't know   
what kind of ship your running, Parck, but we at least kept that tub   
free of vermin when I was in command."  
  
Parck's lips twitched slightly at the joke, but didn't let   
himself smile. "Come on then," the Moff said, the chair turned and   
floated to the door, Parck beside him "I'm having my people here   
clean up the mess you made of the Admonitor. The crew can   
take a rest planetside so they wont be in the way. And none of that   
'Your Excellency' business. I hear that often enough from the   
bureaucrats. It's starting to make me feel old." He spoke briskly,   
but there was a wistful note when he said the name of the flagship.  
  
Niriz had once been in command of the Admonitor, and   
had gladly accompanied Thrawn his supposed exile, which was   
actually a mission to settle the Unknown Regions of the galaxy in   
the Emperor's name. The Admonitor was part of a secret fleet   
of ships culled from the Imperial Armada, crewed with men who   
would not be missed by the rest of the galaxy: competent people   
who, because of their lack of connections, would never rise to   
prominence in the rest of the Empire.  
  
For years Captain Niriz had served at Thrawn's side, until a sneak  
attack by a particularly vicious pirate gang. They had crushed the  
pirates, of course, but Niriz had been badly injured in the fight.  
  
It was a miracle he had even survived. But a cruel miracle.   
With both his legs gone he was confined to a hoverchair for the   
rest of his life, and although pseudoflesh hid most of the burns on   
his face and body he also needed the machinery in the chair to   
breathe for him. Because of his injuries he would never again   
serve in the Imperial military, but Thrawn, recognizing some of   
Niriz's other qualities, had spoken with the Emperor and had the   
former Captain installed as the Moff of the very first sector they   
took control of.  
  
This was a grand promotion, and it showed Thrawn?s great   
faith in the former Captain: Niriz governed hundreds of worlds and   
a sizable portion of the fleet, but he would never again know the   
grandeur and power of commanding a Star Destroyer directly. He   
had thrown himself into his work to try and take his mind, if not   
his heart, off it and found, to his chagrin, that he was an apt   
politician.  
  
Niriz had left his honor guard behind in the docking bay   
and had been able to get away from the bureaucratic aids on the   
surface, which left him free to talk with Parck openly.  
  
"So where is the Admiral? I had expected he would greet   
me personally."  
  
"He left in his private Lambda class shuttle as soon as we   
had cleared the Miashku system." Parck frowned. "He didn't reveal   
his destination, only that he would rendezvous with us here a few   
days from now."  
  
"Ah," the Moff nodded, and there was a knowing look in   
his eye, "there's no need to worry then." His lips thinned. "I   
understand those aliens nearly got him."  
  
"The Yuuzhan Vong, yes." Parck didn?t allow his brisk   
stride to move him ahead of Niriz's slower pace. "They weren't   
like anything we've faced before, and I still know so little about   
them. Presumably the Grand Admiral is contacting the Empire   
proper to see if the Emperor can provide us information and   
reinforcements."  
  
"Yes," Niriz quickly changed the subject, "anyway, his   
timing is impeccable as ever: he should be hear just in time to   
witness the completion of a special project he's had the shipyards   
working on for some time now. Perhaps you know what I'm   
talking about?"  
  
Parck did indeed recall Thrawn speaking to him about a   
certain endeavor Niriz was overseeing, but that was over two years   
ago. "I only hope it's a success. I've never put much faith in Jedi   
hunches, but something tells me we're going to need all the   
firepower we can get."  
  
*************************************  
The Hand of Thrawn.  
  
The Grand Admiral chuckled slightly in remembering the   
bout of pomposity that had inspired the name of his hidden   
fortress. It was ominous, though, and mysterious. Just like   
Thrawn himself.  
  
He strolled through the sliding door into his private   
quarters feeling a sense of peace and unshakable security settle   
over him, as it always did whenever he came here. This ancient   
but powerful ruin was his place, he felt it in every brick and   
piece of machinery. With both it's natural defenses and those   
Thrawn himself had added on, the Hand of Thrawn could   
withstand an all-out planetary bombardment. But it was much,   
much more than just a fortress: it was the secret nerve-center of all   
Imperial operations in the Unknown Regions, and probably the   
most advanced and extensive library outside Imperial Center itself.  
  
Aside from Thrawn himself, the only ones who even knew   
of the Hand's existence were the Emperor, Moff Niriz and the   
garrison that maintained and protected it. Droids had done most of   
the work in making the ancient structure livable, then had their   
memories wiped, and the droid-piloted ships that delivered   
supplies were also wiped after each trip. Perhaps he would show   
Parck the fortress, the captain was really becoming quite apt, but   
there were more immediate concerns to see to.  
  
Thrawn was using the vast stores of information in his   
computers to find out something of what the Yuuzhan Vong had   
been doing in this galaxy. The Jedi, Vergere, had spoken of things   
called dovin basals that propelled and shielded the Vong ships by   
creating and manipulating gravitational fields. Perhaps those   
fields would leave residual traces behind. The computer was   
searching for reports of unexplained gravitational anomalies, cross   
searching with reports of missing or destroyed starcraft. It would   
take some time: news in the Unknown Regions was sketchy at best   
with no large-scale communication binding the planets.  
  
Besides, thousands of ships, sometimes entire convoys, had   
gone missing from the time the worldship Long Reach of Death   
arrived at the edge of the galaxy. Even without the Yuuzhan   
Vong, the Unknown Regions was a dangerous place.  
  
  
He had also pulled up any and all information regarding the   
Sevac system in general and Sevac III in particular. His private   
library was the only place he knew of that would have files on a   
planet that obscure: collecting information about everything was   
the Admiral's private obsession.  
  
Meanwhile, Thrawn sent a tight-beam transmition to   
Imperial Center on the private frequency he used to communicate   
with the Emperor. When the hologram appeared, he expected to   
see the cowled head of the Emperor filling the room, not the life-  
sized image of a tall human woman in decidedly military-style   
clothing.  
  
"Director Isard." Thrawn gave away none of his surprise,   
but was very glad that only lord Vader knelt to greet the Emperor.   
He would hate for his image to appear on it's knees before Ysanne   
Isard of all people. "I expected the Emperor. I have urgent news   
for him."  
  
"No doubt." Isard replied in a cool voice. "But that is not   
possible. His Majesty has only just departed to join lord Vader in   
overseeing the final stages of an important project, and in the final   
annihilation of the Rebellion." The coldly beautiful face smiled in   
a very un-beautiful way, then took on an expression of mock-  
sympathy. "Perhaps he will have time to speak with you on his   
return, though I have my doubts: there will be a grand celebration   
of the Empire's victory and the end of the insurrection. I would   
rather you didn't attend. Many of the guests have more...refined   
taste." They would be human, in other words.  
  
"Where can I contact the Emperor?" Thrawn said calmly.  
  
"The project's location is a secret." That was all he was   
going to get. A pity he couldn't speak to the Emperor. Even more   
of a disappointment he was unable to talk to Darth Vader. He   
meant to ask the Sith lord for the use of some Noghri commandos.   
Considering the deadly abilities of the Yuuzhan Vong, Thrawn   
would welcome bodyguards and shock troops like the Noghri.  
  
"Very well, then summon the Grand Vizier." There was no   
love-loss between Thrawn and Isard. She had planted several   
Intelligence agents in Thrawn's fleet, but the Grand Admiral had   
deduced their identities and either converted them to his side or   
else eliminated them in his early days in the Unknown Regions.  
  
"Sate Pestage will be of little help to you.? Isard's brows   
lowered fractionally, a sign of her growing curiosity. "He knows   
nothing of your mission in the Unknown Regions to begin with. I   
have taken over most of the day-to-day running of Imperial Center   
in the Emperor's absence, give me your report."  
  
"This is a purely military affair, Madame Director,   
something you have neither the authority nor the ability to   
comprehend."  
  
"Take care, Grand Admiral," eyes that were normally   
mismatched but in the hologram were a uniform blue snapped with   
fire, "I have His Majesty's ear. Perhaps I will suggest that your ego   
has become too inflated for your own good. A word from me,   
alien, and you will be removed from the fleet and returned to the   
backwater world were you were found."  
  
  
The glow in Thrawn's eyes intensified. So that was how   
she wanted to play, was it? "I would advise against it, Madame   
Director, or you may find you are not as important to the Emperor   
as you believe." He let a smile play across his face. "What you do   
for the Emperor, he can have anytime and from anyone he wishes.   
My skills are rarer and of much more practical use."  
  
"We will have no need of tactics after the Emperor's   
new...project is complete. He will be in a position to simply take   
what he wants!" Isard practically spat, the blue tinge hid her angry   
flush. "Think on that, Thrawn, for after he is finished with the   
Rebels he his certain to turn his eye in your direction!" The   
hologram vanished.  
  
Thrawn relaxed slightly and turned away from the holopad.   
So he would have to deal with the Yuuzhan Vong without   
additional support. There was a woman named Mara Jade who   
could put him in touch with the Emperor wherever he was, but   
Thrawn had no idea where she might be or how to contact her,   
which left him back where he started.  
  
He shivered a little: the Vong agent he had faced had nearly   
taken him. He had set a clever trap when he deduced their were   
imposters in his fleet, but he had underestimated the physical   
prowess of the Yuuzhan Vong, and his sheer, vicious reaction.  
  
He sat back in a chair and reached for the console in the   
armrest. While he waited for the computer to complete it's search   
he studied his newest piece of holoart.  
  
The image of the Yuuzhan Vong warrior rotated slowly   
before him. Thrawn studied the scars and tattoos and considered   
what they meant. A species that sees destruction as a form of art   
was most interesting. He had seen the two Vong bodies, as well as   
what they had done to an Imperial doctor and medical droid while   
attempting to cover up their presence on the Miashku planet. He   
had ordered that nothing of the scene be touched before   
holorecording could me made of every square centimeter of the   
lab.  
  
The more Thrawn studied those holos, the more he came to   
understand his new enemies. They gave evidence of extreme   
violent energy, of course, but there was also some quality that   
suggested careful design. Every mark on the body was precise,   
every splatter of blood on the walls gave the impression of a   
pattern. Even the dismembered and vivisected droid played a part   
in the look and feel of it all. It was more than a crime scene, it was   
a work of art in itself.  
  
Yes, art. He stared into the frozen face of the holo as it   
turned. Nothing of harmony or symmetrical design, but all with a   
purpose in mind. It was nothing that would disable the warrior, for   
instance, and far more than any of the simple disfigurements   
practiced by some primitive tribes to intimidate their enemies.   
Vergere had told him the Vong believed doing this would bring   
them closer to their gods and Thrawn thought he could see much   
of that.  
  
As he watched, he wondered what this 'Sang Anor's' next   
move would be. From what the Jedi had told him and seeing his   
handiwork for himself, Thrawn had the feeling that the Executor   
was a man of extremes, much like the Emperor. Either subtle and   
devious, which he had already tried, or else open and brutal. He   
could guess at what sort of weapons would be deployed against   
him and what their effectiveness might be, but he knew nothing for   
certain. He would almost be glad when the Emperor would bring   
his Death Star, the special project Isard had hinted at, into the   
Unknown Regions.  
  
It would be a terrible, brutal time as the invaders were   
crushed and the lawless regions of space were brought under   
Imperial control, but eventually the lives of everyone would be   
improved. The galaxy would be a much better place.  
  
Eventually...  
  
The Jedi's parting words came back to sting him.   
Eventually. In his mind's eye he saw a black-robed figure with   
gloating yellow eyes, laughing at him.  
  
*************************************  
Thrawn arrived at the Imperial base two days later, with   
Captain Parck and Moff Niriz waiting to meet him.  
  
"We've put the fleet on alert as per your orders, sir." Parck   
said. "But so far there had been no overt attack in any of the   
sectors under Imperial control."  
  
"There will be, Captain, but in what form I do not know.   
What is the status of the Admonitor?"  
  
"Not good, sir." Niriz answered. "We've been working   
around the clock and the ship still isn't anything close to   
spaceworthy. All the worms seem to have died out by now, so the   
damage wont get any worse, but half the systems will have to be   
replaced." A tight smile creased his face. "However, I do have   
some good news for you."  
  
"The project is a success?" Thrawn raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Better than anyone could have expected. Except for   
yourself, of course." They stood in one of the corridors in the   
outermost ring of the station, with a transparisteel wall from the   
waist up separating them from space. Niriz turned his chair   
toward the view, with Thrawn and a curious Parck following, just   
in time to see something enter realspace. "Right on time."  
  
Parck's eyes widened slightly on seeing the capital ship   
soaring slowly toward the station. "The result of over five years'   
work," he heard Niriz say, "and the best of Imperial and Chiss   
engineering technology."  
  
The approaching ship was no Super Star Destroyer, but it's   
dimensions were just noticeably larger than those of an Imperial   
Star Destroyer. What's more, the bone-white ship was sleeker,   
more streamlined. Parck was impressed at how graceful the vessel   
seemed. And how deadly.  
  
  
"A work of art." Thrawn smiled. "It is designated the   
Imperitor, in honor of the first Star Destroyer ever constructed.   
The perfect molding of Imperial and Chiss technology." He turned   
to Parck, who was still watching the ship. "Do you feel up to   
commanding it, Captain."  
  
Parck jerked slightly, then snapped to attention. "Yes, yes  
sir!"  
  
"Excellent. Make arrangements to have the crew and   
equipment from the Admonitor transferred to our new flagship."   
The Grand Admiral's voice was grim. "We have a lot of work   
ahead."  
  



	3. Default Chapter Title

Chapter Three  
  
After being allowed to leave the Miashku system, Vergere   
jumped into a neighboring system and parked her old frieghter in   
orbit around a dead moon. She began checking the ship that held   
all her worldly goods, conducting repairs if they were needed. She   
didn't trust the spaceports, and with good reason. The Miashku   
planet was the closest thing to a reputable port in the sector. To   
berth one's ship anywhere else and allow someone to look through   
it was to guarentee one's ship would be missing a few parts, at   
least, when they left.  
  
Of course, the spaceports in Imperial-held systems were   
reasonably honest, with regulations strictly enforced, but she didn't   
feel up to testing her luck again, not when Thrawn knew the make   
and model of her ship.  
  
Oin, her unplanned guest, was asleep in his quarters.   
While Vergere worked on the engines she thought about what to   
do with him, and what to do with herself. She had warned the   
Empire of the Yuuzhan Vong threat, so one could say her part in   
all this was over. The Force was not telling her this, however,   
but just the oppostite. There was yet something she needed to do,   
but what?  
  
Oin insisted they return to the Nesz homeworld, Sevac III,   
presumably to help his people. Vergere could see no way to do this  
save for a wholesale evacuation of the planet, and even if the   
whole Nesz race could fit onboard her frieghter she somehow   
doubted Sang Anor would graciously allow her to land on his seed   
world and take off again unmolested. She was deep in thought   
when the Force sent alarm bells off in her head. She started,   
banged her head on the low ceiling as she crawled out of the   
freighter's engines and ran for the helm.  
  
*************************************  
To all appearences Oin was deeply asleep on the small   
pallet-bed, his thick tail hanging over one side to brush the floor. In   
reality he was far away from the freighter, at least the essential part   
of him was.  
  
  
He hovered in space, but there was no ship around him, nor   
a life-support suit, or even a body, and he did not drift but   
remained in one place. Below him was his homeworld, vast   
beyond anything he had once been able to imagine. Most planets   
of the same general type looked alike from orbit, but he would   
know this particular blue-green orb anywhere. He was aware of   
it, as he was aware of his brother and sister Nesz below.  
  
But that awareness was fading.  
  
  
As he sensed his home planet, so too did he feel the   
wrongness that had spread even further across it since he had left,   
and he knew that if he decended through those clouds he would   
see not the marshes and forests of his home, but the corral fields of   
this planet's new masters, the Yuuzhan Vong. Very soon Sevac III,   
a planet named by outsiders simply because it was third-farthest   
from a star most civilizations didn't even bother to chart, would no   
longer belong to the Nesz. And very soon there would be no Nesz   
at all: even if their bodies were alive and active they would have   
lost what had made them who and what they were.  
  
A presence tried to manifest itself beside Oin and had   
partial success. It was faint and wavered before him, because the   
Eternal was bound to the planet and because of the damage done to   
the world's life-force by the Vong.  
  
"Child," Oin heard the 'voice' in his mind, "have you done   
as we asked? Have you found a proper world yet?"  
  
"I have not, Eternal," if Oin had a head he would have hung   
it in shame, but he had left his body behind with Vergere, "the   
seeds of our future were lost." To save time, and because he didn't   
think he could bear verbally explaining this to the Eternal, Oin   
summoned up the memory and gave it to that ancient. It   
experienced Oin's adventures with Vergere, and his encounter with   
Nom Anor. The young Vong had tossed Oin contemptously out of   
the shuttle he would escape in, and had torn off the bandolier   
holding the seeds by accident. By now Nom Anor, shuttle and   
seeds were back at Sevac III, and the Nesz hadn't even the shadow   
of hope.  
  
Waves of despair flowed from the Eternal. "Then there is   
nothing left. Our world will die, as will our children and finally   
ourselves." It faded slightly. "Is there no way you can return? If   
you could take more seeds away, if-"  
  
"Vergere could help us." Oin said. "She would help us   
if she knew your plans, if she believed there was hope to save our   
people."  
  
"Never! The Jedi is not one of us, her goals may not be our   
goals. She would have us destroyed by these Imperials you met.   
Child-"  
  
"Child?" Oin snapped, and before the shock of inturrupting   
an Eternal got to him he went on. "I have seen worlds beyond our   
own, have you? You sent me from our world knowing nothing of   
what I would find there, of how impossible your mission was!   
You sent me forth in ignorance. I had to learn the truth of what   
was at stake from our enemies."  
  
"But I see it now, in your mind." The Eternal did not call   
him 'child' again, but was there diffidence in it's 'voice?'  
  
"So you know I have no hope of doing what you ask   
without help. You may not trust the Jedi, but I know her, and I   
believe she will help us, and you will cooperate!" A part of Oin   
was amazed both at his insolence at commanding an Eternal, and   
at the power in his mental 'voice' but only a very small part.  
  
"It will be done." The Eternal wilted. "Return and we will   
share all we know with this Jedi."  
  
There might have been more forthcoming, but a shock to   
his sleeping body made the spiritual umbilical chord connecting   
spirit to flesh snapped him back inside his flesh. He opened his slit-  
eyes and hopped off the bed. He was promptly knocked off his   
feet when the ship rocked around him. He bounded up and ran for   
the helm, his claws clicking on the floor.  
  
"What's going on?" Oin gripped the sides of the doorway   
to keep from being thrown to the floor by the shudders being sent   
through the ship.  
  
"We're under attack." Was Vergere's succinct reply.   
"Pirates I would guess." Beyond the transparisteel viewport the   
aggressor ship was briefly seen as it passed in front of them. A   
strike cruiser, small and fast but armed to the teeth. Around them   
swarmed half a dozen fighters, Uglies by the look of them. That   
was all the Jedi could find out before a blast from the cruiser took   
out their sensor arrays. The shields had collapsed in the initial   
assault, and the propulsion system soon followed suit. The   
frieghter had been unarmed to begin with, and now it was just a   
drifting target caught in the dead moon's orbit.  
  
The priates held their fire after crippling the ship, and the   
strike cruiser slowed and moved in front of them, in full view of   
the helm. Slowly, arrogantly, it closed the distance between them,   
ignoring the Jedi's attempts to signal them. The commander of the   
priates wanted his prey afraid, wanted their terror to mount as his   
ship closed in on them like a spacegoing shark, Vergere felt those   
intentions as clearly as if they had arisen in her own mind.  
  
She narrowed her violet eyes in concentration. She could   
sense around thirty lives onboard the cruiser, maybe a little less,   
and no more than the six fighters. Oin watched the ship with   
worried eyes, his lipless mouth tight. "Calm yourself." She said in   
a soothing voice. "If they wished to destroy us they would have   
done so by now."  
  
Vergere had been signalling the ship in Basic, so the   
commander used that language when he finally decided to contact   
them.  
  
"Unidentified frieghter," the brassy voice rang over the   
comm, "you are trespassing in space controlled by the Xanian   
Liberation Fleet. You are ordered to submit yourselves to due   
justice. Allow your vessel to be boarded or be destroyed. Over."   
Vergere's eyes narrowed. She had heard of the Xanian Liberators:   
they claimed to be freedom fighters rebelling against the Warlord   
Coerl's conquest and dominion of their planet. In actuality they   
were just one more pirate gang and their plunder went into their   
own pockets, not those of the starving widows and orphans of   
Xania.  
  
With the ship settled down, Oin risked crossing the room to   
grip Vergere's upper arm. "What can we do?" He asked. "How   
can your Jedi powers help us?"  
  
Vergere thought a moment. "Before the Purges, I knew a   
young Padawan named Callista. Her Master had a number of sayings   
and one struck me as especially profound. 'There are a thousand   
ways to use the Force in a fight, and a thousand and one ways to   
avoid one.'" She hit the comm. "Liberator craft, this is the captain   
of the frieghter Loon." She glanced at Oin and smiled. "We   
surrender."  
  
*************************************  
Gnar, the commander of the strike cruiser Hit'n Fade,   
personally led the boarding party. A cool smile stretched across   
his face as he reflected his good luck in running across this little   
prize. With luck, they could sell the cargo, the frieghter and the   
passengers and crew into the slave trade and the rest of the   
Liberator Fleet need never know, and never receive a share of the   
profits. He took ten of his crewmen with him, particularly brutal   
thugs all. Five remained stationed at the airlock when the two   
ships connected while the other five accompanied Gnar into the   
frieghter.  
  
They only needed to subdue the crew and perhaps   
inventory the merchandise (including the persons onboard) before   
towing the small frieghter in their tractor beams. The strike cruiser   
could disengage itself from the frieghter in a heartbeat if trouble   
arose, and the six escort fighters, uglies but with top of the line   
weapons, were ranging out in a wide perimeter around the two   
ships, ready to detect an ambush in case this find proved too good   
to be true. Gnar doubted this find was one of Coerl's little traps,   
though, else he would never have led the boarders.  
  
The pirate was slightly surprised when no one was ready to   
greet him at the airlock, but he merely chuckled and snapped his   
fingers. His other escort preceded him into the frieghter. If the   
crew was foolish enough to think they could hide anywhere on this   
tub, much less set up any sort of ambush on the pirates, they would   
be unpleasantly surprised.  
  
Three nek battle dogs, Gnar's pride and joy, bounded   
forward. The beasts made the most hardenned of Gnar's thugs   
look like baby pittens caught in a tangle of yarn. Each stood   
higher than the commander's waist and was almost twice as broad.   
The cybernetic dogs were all muscle and teeth, with gaping jaws   
that could bite off a person's arm and grind it to mush while one   
was still staring in shock at the bleeding stump.  
  
Gnar had obtained them from a trader who claimed to have found   
them in the gutted remains of a mercenary's ship in deep space,  
frozen in stasis.  
  
The neks' cavernous nostrils flared even wider as they took in the   
scents around them. They pointed at two differend directions, one   
at the helm, the other at the main room and the cargo hold beyond.  
  
"The crew's split up." Gnar narrowed his eyes and set his   
blaster for maximum power. "This smells like a trick, boys. And a   
stupid one at that. Vashi, Mak, take one of the dogs and check the   
helm. The rest of you come with me." So saying, he followed the   
other two neks into the main room, flanked by his three crewers.  
  
It sometimes amazed him that such bulky things as the neks could   
move so stealthily, but the clawed splay-feet on those stubby legs   
were near-soundless as they stepped. They were ugly enough to   
stop a blaster bolt with looks alone, the trader had claimed, but   
their hides would absorb a great many blaster shots without due   
damage. Not that anyone was likely to hit them: a shooter who   
tried to fire on the ugly things barreling down on him would most   
likely drop his weapon and run away screaming instead.  
  
The best quality by far, he had to admit, was their absolute   
loyalty to their master. They would obey any command instantly.   
This was easy to understand: it was programmed into their brains.  
  
They followed the two neks through the main room, which   
was outfitted as some sort of workshop. Furnishings were sparse,   
nearly nonexistent in fact. There was a big table obviously for   
tinkering with things, a smaller one for meals, a few chairs and a   
few rooms, probably sleeping quarters, and a 'fresher connected to  
the main room. A larger, closed door led to the cargo hold.  
  
The neks sniffed at the doorways. "Check the sleeping   
quarters." Gnar ordered. "That one first." They went to the   
nearest door and Gnar hit the button beside it. He stepped aside as   
the door slid open, but no blasterfire streaked out. A nek barged in   
and there was no screaming. Gnar stepped around and saw a   
small, empty chamber and a nek with nothing to kill. He snapped   
an order and the nek stalked out.  
  
They checked the other room and saw much the same   
thing. The third was an empty supply closet. "Must be in the   
cargo hold or the helm." Gnar reasoned and turned back to his two   
guards.  
  
Two?  
  
"Where's Jorn?" Gnar said. The other two looked around.  
  
"He was just here sir." One offered.  
  
"Well he isn't here now." Gnar glowered at the cargo hold.   
"The fool thinks he can take a look at the goods and maybe pocket   
something for himself. C'mon." The doors slid aside and the neks   
charged in, followed by Gnar. "What in the seven hells!" He spat   
in his own language.  
  
The cargo hold was empty, completely empty. "What kind   
of frieghter's got no cargo?" Gnar spun around. "Jorn! Come out   
here you garq-humping-" his eyes widenned. "Well where's   
Huurad?" He tried for commanding anger, but it came out as a   
shaky croak. His single guard looked around, surprised, and   
started for the door to the main room. "No, idiot! Let the neks   
lead the way!" He turned back. "Dogs!" He snapped, then paled.  
  
The battle dogs were glaring at one another and snarling in   
fury. Faster than Gnar's eye could follow they launched   
themselves at each other. "Stop!" Gnar commanded. "Stop!" But   
the roar of the neks overrode his voice. They tumbled and tore at   
one another like mad. Feeling a cold sweat break out on his face,   
Gnar backed away and hit the button, sealing the cargo hold and   
the beasts within away from him. "We have to-" he turned back as   
he spoke, but the words died on his suddenly dry lips and tongue.   
The last pirate was gone.  
  
  
"What in Xan's name is going on here?" He yelled.   
"Vashi! Mak! Get your hides back here now! Dog! Come!" But   
there was no response. Come to think of it, why would it take so   
long just to check on the helm? "Is this some kind of ghost ship?"   
He said to himself, and perhaps not entirely to himself as he   
reached trembling fingers for his comm link. He brought the   
cylinder near his mouth and moved his thumb to flick the ON   
switch, when the device flew out of his hand. No, not flew, it was   
yanked out!  
  
He shrieked then, in pure terror, at the voice which seemed   
to come from all around him. "Your friends aren't in any shape to   
help you, Gnar. I'm afraid you're all alone." He caught movement   
out of the corner of his eye and whirled, blaster leveled. The   
cloaked figure lashed out with one of its limbs and the weapon   
flew from his hand. Gnar's eyes were bulging from his head. The   
hooded and cloaked being that faced him was perhaps a head   
shorter than he, but seemed to pulse with power. Gnar was no   
coward, though, and given something solid to fight his respose was   
a vicious attack.  
  
He pulled a long-bladed knife from his sleeve and launched   
himself at the slight form. His enemy merely held up one hand,   
palm-out.  
  
Something invisible slammed into his midsection with the   
force of ship breaking gravity's hold. The air was knocked out of   
him and he was sent hurtling backwards, his lower legs struck the   
long table and he tumbled head-over-heels across it to land on the   
floor. The knife lay at the hooded one's feet.  
  
Gnar groaned and shood his head. In front of his face he   
saw a clawed, reptilian foot. He looked up and saw its owner: an   
upright lizardlike being who watched him in return with narrowed   
slit-eyes. It held a blaster pistol leveled at Gnar's head, and gave   
every indication it knew how to use the weapon.  
  
"So far, so good." Vergere muttered as she pulled back her   
hood.  
  
*************************************  
"You're dead, y'hear me?" Gnar snarled as Oin jabbed his   
blaster into the pirate's back, urging him through the door. Binders   
locked his hands behind his back and the cloaked alien preceded   
him. "Both of you! I've got five more men stationed at the airlock   
and they'll-" he trailed off again on seeing his other five guards,   
unconcious on the floor. Vashi and Mak had also been knocked   
out and the other nek lay curled up in a corner, snoozing   
peacefully.  
  
"Hurry," Vergere said, "we don't have much time." Within   
a few moments they had set everything up and had crossed into the   
strike cruiser without any of the remaining crew knowing. The   
pirates onboard were most surprised to hear their commander   
booming over the comm.  
  
"Attention all available hands, this is Commander Gnar,   
assemble and board the captured vessel." Lieutenent Mort walked   
to the bridge comm station and flicked the switch onto SEND.  
  
"Somethin' the matter boss?"  
  
"Get a party together and board that ship, Mort, or do you   
want to try flyin' home without a ship? We don't have much time   
here before Coerl starts breathing down our necks!"  
  
Mort led a group of twelve crewers to the airlock, leaving six   
behind to man the bridge. On seeing no one waiting for them at   
the airlock Mort stationed three pirates at the entrace and led the   
way into the frieghter. Inside, they found the helm and main room   
deserted, then openned the cargo hold.  
  
The pirates were very surprised indeed to find the first ten   
crewmen bound and gagged on the floor, and the commander's   
three neks napping in a corner. They were even more surprised   
when the strike cruiser broke its hold on the crippled frieghter,   
causing a quake that knocked them all to the floor or against the   
walls. Mort was the first to his feet and running for the airlock,   
where he found his three guards, stunned.  
  
He hurried to the helm and signalled the cruiser that was   
slowly moving away from them. "What's goin' on with you   
people?" He roared into the comm. Pirates crowded the doorway   
behind him. "Turn around and pick us up!"  
  
"Very sorry, Lieutenent," a pleasant voice responded, "but I   
can't afford any delays. Thank you for the ship, by the way, be   
assured we will make better use of it than you would. I have no use  
for this refuse, though." An escape pod launched from the cruiser.  
"Your commander and bridge crew are all packed inside," the highjacker   
explained, "you may want to tell your fighters to intercept that pod   
before it runs out of air, it really wasn't made to hold seven,   
especially when all the yelling and screaming they've been doing is sure  
to use up oxygen. Over."  
  
"You get back here whoever you are!" Mort yelled. "Get   
back here or we'll hunt you down like rabid ranats! Don't you   
know who we are? We're the Xanian Liberators!"  
  
"Sorry I can't stay and chat, but as I said I can't be delayed.   
It's been a pleasant transaction, Lieutenent. Over." The pirate   
fighters went after them but by then the cruiser had gotten a good   
head start away from the moon. Two of the fastest fighters caught   
up with it but the pirate vessel's shields easily repelled their blasts.   
The Hit'n Fade jumped into hyperspace, leaving it's former   
owners to their own devices.  
  
*************************************  
On the Imperial-controlled planet Arkenue, private   
Vers'eli'nuffur, or Selin to the humans, waved another group of   
new arrivals through the spaceport gate into the city beyond.   
Customs duty! Selin seethed under the cool facade every Chiss   
was expected to maintain, and a Chiss of a noble House most of   
all. No matter that he was only the fourth son of his House and so   
denied the possiblity of inheriting a title or territories of his own,   
noble blood still counted for something. Or at least it should!  
  
He had joined Syndic Mith'raw'nuruodo's growing army of   
Chiss and Imperial troops, thus making himself an exile from his   
Homeworld, the only truly civilized place in the galaxy, because of   
the oppurtunity for gaining wealth and power that he was denied   
among his own people. Like most Chiss he had never gone beyond   
their own space, and on joining the Empire he had expected to be   
lording over the inferior races, alien and human, not protecting   
them from one another, and certainly not taking order from   
commoners, much less humans!  
  
Selin couldn't understand how the Syndic seemed to value   
ability only and didn't take family lineage into account at all. Selin   
had no subordinates to command, his immediate superior was a   
human of all things, and worst of all he had to work side-by-side   
with commoners who, on Homeworld, would have dropped to their   
knees on seeing him cross the street! The commoners out here had   
been trained out of all proper respect for their betters.  
  
He still remembered an epsiode from his early days in   
Unity Fleet where he had tried to assert his rights over a commoner   
Chiss and had found himself knocked to the floor with the peasant  
and three of his friends standing over him.  
  
"You left your title back on Homeworld, m'lord." The man   
had said. "We're all the same out here. Your blood's no different   
than mine, push me again and I'll spill some of it."  
  
He fixed his red-eyed stare on a pair of merchants and sent   
them scurrying through the gate. He was half-ready to abandone   
this fleet altogether, except where would he go? Homeworld was   
closed to him and he would sooner die than throw his lot in with   
Warlords, pirates and the other trash that littered the Unknown   
Regions.  
  
The universe had a grudge against him, that was the only   
answer he could see.  
  
"Name and ship designation." He said to another pair of   
merchants, a human and Weequay who were returning to their ship   
to depart. He took out his datapad to register their names when   
another coughing fit hit him. It had started late last night with a   
slight tickle in the back of his throat and had gotten so bad he was   
literally waking himself up with bouts of coughing that nothing   
seemed to soothe. His throat felt raw and angry and he'd had,   
possibly, a grand total of two hours of sleep. When he wasn't   
waking himself up the other privates where doing the same with   
their coughing fits.  
  
If he didn't have to sleep in the barracks with the   
commoners, Chiss and human, he probably wouldn't have caught   
this thing in the first place. He hadn't been able to see the base   
medic yet, as the medic was swamped with Imperials complaining   
about their coughs. Of course, the lineage of a patient had nothing   
to do with how early or late his appointment with the medic was   
either. Certainly he couldn't see a doctor in the city, the local   
knew next to nothing about Chiss physiology. This time the   
coughing fit was so bad he nearly doubled over. If he ever found   
out who had given this to him...  
  
"Captain Giv Koler of the freight-hauler Motherload,"   
the Weequay grunted in Basic, "and first officer Hok Megac." He   
pointed at the human, who staggered a little and clutched at the   
railing for balance. Intoxicated, Selin thought with disgust. "We   
dropped off our cargo then stayed for three days, refueling and   
repairs." And doubtless enriching the gaming houses, tapcaffs and flesh-  
traders, Selin thought as he glanced at his datapad. "You're   
cleared." He said. They started past, and the human collapsed in   
midstep.  
  
"What's the matter with that man?" Selin took a step   
toward the body, then was hit by a coughing fit so bad he dropped   
to his knees. He tried to climb to his feet but he couldn't fill his   
lungs. He kept trying, refusing to appear on his knees in front of   
these vermin. He clapped one hand to his mouth to block out the   
coughing, brought it away to see flecks of red blood on his palm.   
His glowing eyes widenned and before he knew what was   
happening he was vomiting.  
  
Only it wasn't his stomache that heaved, but his lungs. He   
threw up blood, and other fluids he didn't care to identify. Cramps   
seized his limbs and he fell to his side near the human, now forgotten   
by the pain-wracked Chiss. He vomitted again, more blood, more   
of his insides were outside, his clothes were filthy but he did not   
care.  
  
He was dying. He knew it. Felt it with each spasm that took   
away a little more of himself. Dying in pain. Nothing peaceful   
about this, spasms pushed him further and further until there was   
nothing left to push and nowhere left to go. He was dying among   
the inferior races and commoners he had so despised mere seconds   
ago, and he found it did not matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing   
existed but the spasm that tore through him and the one he knew   
was waiting to tear through him again. And again. And again.  
  
And then...nothing.  
  
*************************************  
The villip on Sang Anor's table inverted and took on his   
son's features just as he was returning to his chambers. He had   
been communing with the yammosk regarding the deployment of   
coralskippers around the worldship. The war coordinator was in a   
foul mood, it had a headache, which meant that Sang Anor now   
had one too.  
  
He forgot about all that when he saw Nom Anor's face.   
"Executor, this is Nom Anor reporting. Executor, this is Nom   
Anor-" the villip morphed the Vong's voice as well as his face.   
Sang Anor hurried over and put his fingertips on the villip. Light   
years away, the villip Nom Anor held took on the Executor's   
visage.  
  
"I hear you. Give your report."  
  
"The various spores-plants have taken hold on twelve   
worlds so far." He said proudly. "And the first outbreak has   
occurred on Arkenue, an Imperial world in the Kammok sector. I   
ordered the team to leave the planet as soon as the deaths began,   
and to set up defenses for the spore-plant before they went."  
  
"Good. Continue your work as planned. I will speak to   
Coerl's minders and see that everything has been set up on their   
end."  
  
"Yes, Executor."  
  
"And be wary, Nom Anor." He warned. "Now that the   
plagues are becoming public knowledge it may be difficult   
keeping a low profile. The Grand Admiral will likly try and put a   
stop to this. You must work unnoticed."  
  
"I will be a bloodwyrm swimming through their veins." The   
villip smiled. "My enemy will not sense me until my hooks sink   
into his brain."  
  
"Yun Harla walk with you then. Sang Anor out." Nom Anor   
was proving very apt indeed in these field assignments. At this   
rate he was ready to move beyond the feenir stage altogether.   
Sang Anor considered bringing this up with the priest when next   
they spoke.  
  
Sang Anor pushed himself away from the table and went to   
his sclipune to get another villip. Things were proceeding nicely.   
At this rate, Grand Admiral Thrawn would soon have too much on   
his plate to even think of taking a stab at him.  



	4. Default Chapter Title

Chapter Four  
  
After a just day's experience, Captian Parck came to a simple conclusion: the   
Imperitor was a dream. The battleship was superior in every way to the   
standard Imperial design. A fleet of vessels like these could pacify the   
sectors of the Unknown Regions in no time at all. A smug smile creased his  
face as he silently invited the Yuuzhan Vong to throw their worst at them.  
  
On exiting hyperspace near one of their shipyards, Parck left his first officer,  
Commander Veenir, in command and reported to the Grand Admiral in his private  
chambers. It was a precise duplicate of his chambers in the Admonitor, with  
his holographic artwork downloaded along with the other information from the  
flagship.  
  
"Ah, Captain," Thrawn spoke as his chair swiveled around. "How do you find  
our new flagship?"  
  
"More than satisfactory, sir. The shipyard is ready for your inspection."  
  
"Very good. I have meanwhile composed a list of new regulations in light of  
these new developments with the Yuuzhan Vong." He picked up a datapad.  
"I want the sensors on our bases and sentienal ships to scan for organic matter  
as well as metal and electromagnetic radiation. Also they are to be on alert   
for gravitational anomolies. I have several outlines for new TIE fighter training  
simulations based on information of the Vong fighters as well."  
  
"Base security will also be tightenned. No one will be permitted to enter or   
leave an Imperial base or vessel without proper clearence, no matter the  
circumstances. I will not have a repeat of the events that left the Admonitor  
crippled."  
  
"From Lt. Tevock's debriefing, sir, I gather the Yuuzhan Vong wont be able  
to pass as human under close examination, even if those masker-things let  
them take the places of our crewers." Parck put in.  
  
"Precisely. Now our first order of business is to destroy the fleet being built  
at Sevac III." He indicated one of the monitors, displaying a chart of the   
little known system and the hyperspace lanes that led into it. "Sang Anor has  
access to Coerl's information sources, so we will have to be cautious not to   
alert him of our plans."  
  
"We can muster ships at these points," three lights appeared onscreen,  
representing three worlds in Zoab sector under Imperial control that boardered  
Coerl's territory, "and rendevous at the edge of the Sevac system. A quick but  
effective first strike should be enough to end that threat." More charts   
appeared on the monitors.  
  
"After that the real challenge will begin. We can assume the Vong worldship is  
in Coerl's territory, but that still leaves a lot of space. We are lucky in   
that I was planning on moving against him soon anyway. I will simply have to  
rethink my list of likely targets to include planets the Yuuzhan Vong will find  
valuable." A screen showed the planned invasion route that would take the fleet  
to Orune Prime, Coerl's seat of power.  
  
"I'll begin implementing these changes immediatly, Sir." Parck began, then saw  
The comm on Thrawn's armrest begin blinking. Thrawn glanced down.  
  
"Moff Niriz's private comm frequency." He said and switched it on.  
  
"Shall I leave, Admiral?"  
  
"No, I don't think so." Thrawn stood and walked to the holopad in front of the  
command chair and a blue-tinted hologram of Moff Niriz appeared before him.  
  
"Admiral, we have a problem." Niriz spoke quickly in clipped tones that Parck  
only heard from his former commander when he was worried.  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
"Approximatly five hours ago there was an outbreak on Arkenue, one of our  
strongest bases. Some kind of plague. Since then I've heard reports of plague  
on three other worlds we control, all in the Zoab sector."  
  
"How bad could it be?" Thrawn's eyes narrowed. "If the first case was only  
five hours ago?"  
  
"Thousands are infected, sir, and hundreds are dead already with numbers  
mounting every minute. The diseases seem to affect humans and Chiss worst,  
but none of the other races that have come in contact with it seems immune.  
And the ways they die, sir, they're not pretty."  
  
"This is impossible." Parck murmured to himself. Just seconds ago  
everything had been under control. How could this be happening?  
  
"There's rioting in the streets, sir, and I've had to declare martial law on the   
infected planets, but the troopers I've sent down are themselves terrified of  
being infected."  
  
"Quarenteen the planets," Thrawn ordered. "and arrange for medical teams to  
be sent down. I want to be informed of all their progress and findings."  
  
"It's being done as we speak."  
  
"Good. And try and keep this news from becoming public knowledge." The  
Imperials must, at all costs, maintain an image of unassailable strength.  
  
"Too late for that, sir. That's another problem I wanted to alert you to. For   
an hour now all Warlord Coerl's ships and bases have been broadcasting broad-  
band communications to everyone who cares to listen, in Zoab sector and  
outside it. Another one's just starting."  
  
"Give me the frequency." Thrawn ordered. The Moff complied and Thrawn  
quickly accessed the signal. It was being broadcast in several languages  
including the Chiss dialects. Thrawn selected Basic and seconds later the broad  
face of Warlord Coerl filled one of the screens.  
  
The brilliant general who, nearly twenty years prior, had staged the bloody coup  
that had made him the ruler of Orone Prime and from there made himself The  
most powerful Warlord in Zoab sector was still a striking figure. His   
varicolored scales shined to perfection and his fighting crest up and flaring.  
  
His uniform was likewise impressive, though it didn't completely disguise the  
results of a few decades' soft living. For all his posturing, Coerl was   
happiest sitting back in his luxurious and well-shielded bunker and 'commanding' from a distance.  
  
"Peoples of the Unknown Regions," the droid-dubbed voice speaking Basic  
was out of sync with Coerl's mouth-movements, "my fellow warlords, traders,  
and common citizens. I have uncovered a heinious secret. A conspiricy that  
threatens all of us."  
  
"The Imperials that have been among us for a number of years now are not what  
they claim. They are renegades and refugees, seeking to escape the certain   
death that prowels their own regions of the Galaxy, and putting us at risk of   
that death in the process. They serve no Emperor, their Empire no longer even exists!"  
  
"Insanity." Niriz murmured. Parck had to agree. Had Coerl lost his mind?  
  
"Plague runs through the so-called 'civilized' sectors of the galaxy. Diseases   
a thousand times worse than the dreaded Death Seed of ancient times. 'Grand  
Admiral' Thrawn is no more than a petty warlord himself. He saw the collapse  
of his civilization and fled like the coward he truly is, taking a handful of   
ships and soldiers and leaving his Empire to fragment in anarchy!"  
  
"These charlatans have deceived thousands of young and impressionable Chiss  
with their trickery and conned the planets and peoples of eight sectors into  
serving them. They are not joining a vast Empire, these are only lies to keep  
us awed and afraid, to keep you as slaves to Thrawn!"  
  
Parck was fuming. How dare that fool spew such blatent lies! He glanced over  
at Thrawn and saw, to his surprise, that the Admiral did not seem nearly as  
affronted. His eyes glowed brightly as he watched the posturing Warlord.  
  
"Artisticly done." He said under his breath.  
  
"But this lying Chiss was mistaken in believing he had escaped the plagues.  
He and his Imperials have brought the diseases with them. Brought them to  
us!" The Warlord's face was grim, his large, ribbed ears twitched and flapped.  
"Plagues infest the worlds they have conned into serving them, and the young  
and foolish Chiss who enlisted to serve this false Empire are dying as well."  
  
The image shifted to a gloomy fortress-camp in a mountain range. The image  
jerked and wobbled as the hand holding the recording device shook. There  
were lookout towers where guards were stationed. Stormtroopers patroled the  
grounds and energy shields crackled in the air, closing in the captives.  
  
"This is just one of the hundreds of death camps hidden on Orrso, Thrawn's   
capital world. Thousands of infected beings are forced into them to hide the   
pestilence." Coerl's voice from the background while the scene moved in to  
show the occupants of the camps.  
  
"That isn't Orrso!" Niriz bit out.  
  
"Of course not." Thrawn said coldly. "This was doubtless staged on one of  
Coerl's worlds. Xan probably, the arcitecture of that camp is Xanian, though  
an old style. Probably an abandoned prison camp from the Dres wars 200 years  
ago."  
  
Gaunt figures milled around without direction outside the buildings. Humans  
dressed in tatters and covered in sores. Chiss with the red light fading in   
their eyes dropped to their knees in supplication to beings only they could see.  
Aliens were there as well, though not nearly as many as the humans and Chiss,  
and they're races were all but unrecognizable.  
  
A Chiss seemed to go wild then, he ran at the force fields and rebounded in  
arcs of electricity. The blue-skinned alien bounded up and ran back at the   
field until a stormtrooper sent a stun blast his way.  
  
"These camps exist on every world the Imperials hold sway over, and worse  
yet, Thrawn has begun using the diseases that worry at his own troops against  
us! Seeding our worlds with plague to make them easier to conquer. I call on  
every power in the Unknown Regions to unite against this common threat! For  
the worlds Thrawn has conquered to rebel and throw off the Imperial yoke! To  
fight against the true enemy, Thrawn, the would-be ruler of a thousand   
poisoned planets!" The signal cut off.  
  
********************************************  
"Sit down." Kei Rascer ordered as soon as the recording device, another  
filthy machine-thing, was shut off. In response to his chief minder's command,  
Coerl's face instantly lost all the passion that had animated it seconds before.  
Seeming almost to deflate, the most powerful warlord in Zoab sector shuffled  
over to a chair and sat down, resembling what he truly was: a puppet.  
  
Kei Rascer glanced down at her charge. The man's scales and tall crest easily  
concealed the Obeyers he had been inplanted with, and his spirit had by now  
been completely and effectivly broken after his earliest attempts at defiance   
had been punished. He would do as he was told. "Take that thing away." She told  
two of the other minders: Vong in human ooglith masquers wearing the uniforms of  
Coerl's personal guard. They wheeled the recorder out of the room. She shrugged  
slightly in the ridiculously scanty and clinging concubine's garments she wore over  
her own human masquer.  
  
If any of his Coerl's underlings thought to wonder at their leader's new taste   
In concubines and bodyguards, exclusively human, and his desire for utter   
seclusion, none of them dared question the Warlord.  
  
Right now, Kei Rascer thought, the brain inside that beaten shell was regretting  
the unquestioning obedience he had demanded of his people, and the fact that  
he'd never been seen in public without being surrounded by bodyguards and with a  
pretty female on his arm.  
  
"Feed him." She said to another minder, like the rest he was in a human ooglith  
masquer and bodybuard's uniform "And give him a treat for his fine   
performance." She grinned down at the slave as she walked past his chair and patted  
him on the head. If the Obeyer's had allowed it, Coerl would doubtless have flinched  
away from her touch. A far cry from the lustfull leers that had creased his face when  
he had first seen her two years ago.  
  
But then, he had since seen what was under her second skin. She had subdued  
and implanted the Warlord on their first night together, with the guards just   
outside the sleeping chambers never suspecting, and most of his breaking had been at her hands.  
  
Leaving the other minders, she went to her chambers to report to the Executor.  
  
*********************************************  
"What was that?" Niriz clenched a fist. "I'll have my people examine that so-  
called evidence. It has to have been faked!"  
  
"The footage was real." Thrawn spoke at last. "In that the recording itself   
was not doctored. The humans and Chiss we saw were most likely Yuuzhan Vong  
in diguise, as were their 'stormtrooper' guards. The aliens were doubtless  
prisoners taken from the star-lanes and subjected to experiments over the last  
few years."  
  
"Yuuzhan Vong?" The Moff raised an eyebrow. "They are behind this?"  
  
"I had expected something like this." Thrawn said. "But not so soon.  
Obviously Sang Anor had set up a contingency plan in case my assassination  
failed, and loosing plagues throughout the galaxy has always been something  
he's had in the works. I have underestimated the Executor. It is a mistake I   
will not repeat." The Admiral's voice was grim.  
  
"But what can we do?" Parck asked.  
  
"Implement all the changes in protocol I drew up, for one. Quarenteen planets  
where plague has broken out and have our medical teams get to work on finding  
a solution. Imperial garrisons are to remain in their bases unless ordered  
otherwise and no infected Imperial will be permitted onboard a ship."  
  
"The fleet is to be put on alert, there are sure to be riots in some of our   
worlds after enough of this propaganda gets out. Not to mention attacks by Coerl's  
forces and other local powers." Thrawn turned to face them both.  
  
"I don't expect the entire Unknown Regions to turn on us at once: the Warlords  
are a suspicious lot. They will be afraid of committing to a large offensive   
and so leaving their own worlds undefended, at least until they've decided these  
plagues aren't just an elaborate trick on Coerl's part."  
  
"Of course, Sir." Said Niriz. "But that will tie up most of our military   
resources and throw our organization into chaos, at least for a time. It will be  
impossibleto muster the ships and men needed for a large-scale attack on Coerl's territory."  
  
"Exactly what Sang Anor wants." Thrawn's eyes pulsed. "Our enemy is cunning,  
but his overconfidence is his weakness. He has won this round but eventually  
he will overreach himself and make a mistake, of that I've no doubt. The  
question is whether or not we shall survive until that time comes."  
  
Thrawn sat back in his command chair. "But I have no intention of allowing the  
operation of Sevac III to continue. I will put together a small but effective   
strike force that will see to it that the Executor gets no help from that quarter."  
  
********************************************  
Vergere put the Hit'n Fade on an automated course through hyperspace and  
sat back in the bridge command chair to think.  
  
"Hungry?" Oin asked. "He had a plate of foodstuffs Vergere didn't recognize  
and a glass of some beverage. "The larders of this ship are well-stocked,  
but I've no taste for the stuff. Nesz food tastes more...real, than this."  
  
Vergere had to agree, she too preferred the simpler fare of the 'primitive'  
races to starship rations. "Where do we go from here?" Oin asked.  
  
"We have to get rid of this strike cruiser for starters." Vergere said firmly  
  
"It is powerful and well-armed." Oin pointed out.  
  
"It will get us into trouble." Vergere ammended. "No one notices traders  
in a beat-up frieghter, and if they do they assume we have nothing worth  
stealing. A battleship though, no port will let us just slip in and out with no  
questions asked. We will be seen as a threat, and we don't have the crew to  
operate this thing. Our best bet is to sell it as soon as possible." She   
sipped the beverage. "Now, we-"  
  
Vergere jerked ridged in midsentence. Her violet eyes bulged and stared at  
something only she could see. "Vergere?" Oin asked quickly. "What is it?"  
  
But the Jedi did not hear him. Her mind wasn't on the cruiser's bridge, the  
shock had driven her conciousness out of her flesh.  
  
People were dying.  
  
She felt it, heard their cries echo through the Force. Reflexivly, she pulled   
Her robes around her to protect her from the psychic chill and slipped from her   
Chair to fall to the floor.  
  
Death was spreading like a dark stain on cloth. Not easy deaths, or quiet.  
Beings were dying in pain and fear. Many of them. And it was not quick. She  
quickly realized it was not the deaths themselves she was feeling, but the   
suffering beforehand. And she knew who was responsible: the creatures of the  
Yuuzhan Vong might not exist in the Force, but their actions registered there sure enough.  
  
Sang Anor had begun a massacre.  
  
The Force swirled around her, with myriad paths stretching off into the   
distance, except she knew that the 'distance' was the future, and all the paths were bloody.  
  
"What can I do? How can I stop this?" She spoke without a voice, with her  
mind alone, and was slightly surprised when a familiar figure took form in the  
waves of energy around her. Someone she hadn't seen in so long..."Master."  
She whispered to Thracia.  
  
"All the ways lead through danger and death, child, but only one ends with   
hope." The shade pointed to one of the hardest paths. "Follow where it leads,  
and stand true when the time comes. Jedi."  
  
Vergere peered through the mists and tried to see where the paths would take  
her, increasingly aware of hands shaking her and a voice yelling in her ear.  
  
"Wake up!" Oin bellowed at the senseless Jedi. "Vergere!" He breathed a  
sigh of relief as her violet eyes blinked.  
  
"I need to get to the navicomputer." She struggled to her feet. "We have to  
change course."  
  
"Where are we going." Oin asked. He half-knew the answer, but he needed  
her to say it.  
  
"To your planet, Oin." Vergere shuddered. "It's the only place we can go."  
  
  



	5. Default Chapter Title

Chapter Five  
  
The TIE Advanced fighters entered realspace first and   
fanned out to meet any trouble. The rest of the strike force   
followed a few moments later: the Imperial Star Destroyer   
Shocklash and three carrack class cruisers. The recon flight a   
day earlier had showed little activity around the target. Sevac III   
appeared completely undefended.  
  
The ships spread out and the Shocklash released its   
wings of fighters, TIE Interceptors and Daggers joined the less-  
numerous Advanced fighters as they closed in on the target.  
  
"Azure Squadron, move to flank the Sidewalker," Azure   
leader named one of the cruisers.  
  
"Azure Nine, copy." A Chiss voice from one Interceptor.  
  
"Azure Six, same here." Drash Tevock said from his   
Dagger's cockpit as he angled to get a better view of the planet: a   
blue-green sphere with dark blotches on the surface. The mission   
was straightforward enough, when in range the Shocklash   
would release its bombers and the turboblasters of the big ships   
would level anything that so much as resembled a structure,   
then quickly depart.  
  
What intrigued Drash was the new flight sim programs he   
and the other pilots had been running through. He had been   
engaging the things dubbed 'coralskippers' with success, and he   
wanted to fly against these new enemies, if they even existed that   
was.  
  
His transfer out of Grey Squadron, and off the flagship, meant  
little to him. The names of his wingmates and the ships he served  
on were passing things, the only constant was the void, the fighter  
around him, enemies to engage and the search for the perfect kill.  
The past was swallowed up by the blackness beyond the transparisteel  
and the future meant nothing.   
  
A strong memory from his childhood flashed across his   
conciousness like a shooting star: that old fool Frae talking to   
Drash and the other assembled children of the commune about the   
joys of transendence-where one becomes more than oneself.  
  
  
That was the only thing that crack-brained lunatic ever said   
that caught Drash's attention, the only thing that got through to him  
when the regular beatings and days locked in a tiny, lightless room failed  
to do so. That idea was all he had left with when Imperial recruiters   
had gotten him out of that madhouse. He was on a quest for   
transendence and he would find his answer in a fighter's cockpit.  
  
With that in mind, the petty concerns the other Imperials   
were so caught up in didn't exist for him. The Imperials out in the   
Unknown Regions were all worried about the plagues that were   
being reported both in Imperial-held worlds and in those belonging   
to other powers in over a dozen different sectors now.  
  
Humans fretted about their wives and families on Imperial bases in   
quarenteened worlds. Chiss grumbled as well, saying they   
never would have come in contact with this strange spectrum of   
diseases if they hadn't listenned to Thrawn and believed him.   
Drash was indifferent on the most part. If anything, he was a little   
excited: there were certain to be more battles now, more chances   
to find what he was searching for.  
  
"Stay sharp, Azure Squad, we're coming in!" As the   
briefing had said, they detected no signs of technology with their   
sensors, but there was massive organic readings. The dark areas   
were certainly not natural, though: hills of yorrik coral that the   
officer claimed were half-completed ships and a cluster of what   
looked like buildings near a wide flat area similar to a landing pad.   
  
When Shocklash and cruisers were in orbit the capital ship   
released bombers and turned its turboblaster batteries on the   
surface. Sun-bright bolts of energy lanced down at the surface-and   
were swallowed by massive gravitational anomolies.  
  
"What in the name of creation?" A human pilot exclaimed   
over the comm. Drash shared the man's shock as the Destroyer   
fired again, and again the blasts bent slightly to meet at a point   
well above the structures and simply dissapear. The bombers were   
in the atmosphere now and ready to begin a strafing run on one of   
the incomplete coral ships when swarms of missiles were launched   
from the surface.  
  
The dozens of projectiles resembled missiles, that is to say.   
Missiles made of coral, each one slightly smaller than a   
fighter's orb-cockpit. Interceptors and Advanced craft escorting   
the bombers tried to intercept and destroy the projectiles but each   
missile's dovin basal was locked onto a different bomber, and the   
semi-sentient brains in the projectiles knew enough to swerved and  
avoid all obstacles to their targets. The escort fighters took out  
a few of the missiles, blaster bolts breaking through the coral surface  
and igniting the explosive material within, but most of them hit the   
bombers they were targeting and the unshielded craft were blown apart  
in brief but intense fireballs over the coral fields.  
  
The Shocklash prepared another volley, but before the   
Star Destroyer could bombard the world below something else   
unexpected happened.  
  
Before the eyes of the Imperials the vast battleship   
imploded. That was the only word to describe what happened.   
Durasteel bulkheads bent inward, the point of the dagger-shaped   
ship inverted, and the entire ship was sucked into itself. In less   
than three seconds the Star Destroyer had vanished into a speck of   
metal no bigger than a marble.  
  
And before anyone could react the same thing was   
happening to one of the cruisers.  
  
"This is Captain Gren of the Sidewalker," a barely   
controlled Chiss voice boomed over all channels, "I am taking   
command, all craft pull back and retreat! Pull back and retreat!"  
  
"What about us fighters?" Howled a human voice over the   
comm. "We don't have hyperdrives! Don't leave us, damn you!"   
Seeing the powerful Shocklash destroyed had put fear in the   
man's voice than a thousand conventional enemies couldn't have   
instilled.  
  
"Interceptors and Daggers, do your best to reach the edge of   
the system." Captain Gren ordered. "We'll jump in later and  
pick you up." The cruiser began to move out of orbit when it  
too turned into a deflating balloon before their eyes.  
  
"This isn't happening." One of the fighters said in a   
perfectly level voice. It isn't happening. I have to get out of here!"  
The Interceptor pilot screamed and broke away from his squadron. It   
began flying away. Not in any particular direction, just away   
from the insane planet below.  
  
"Stay in formation!" Azure leader ordered. "All squadrons   
stay in formation! We've got enemy signatures coming in fast!"   
And sure enough, as the last cruiser crumpled into nothing,   
hundreds of coralskippers appeared from around the edge of the   
planet and streaked towards the TIE fighters.  
  
Drash hardly heard his commander: the fire had come on   
him again. It was curious that he hadn't sensed the enemy fighters   
coming, but they were here now and he knew what to do. He met   
the foremost coralskipper with guns blazing. Dovin basals   
swallowed the blasterfire but Drash instantly fell back on the   
strategy proposed by the sim instructors: using low-power shots to   
tire the dovin basals then switching to full power when the coral   
fighter became sluggish and unshielded. He took out the   
coralskipper on his first pass, a blaster bolt melting the cockpit and   
pilot inside.  
  
The coralskippers targeted the TIE Advanced fighters first:   
apparently the Yuuzhan Vong (as the late captain of the   
Shocklash had named the enemy) knew the heavily armed and   
armored fighters posed the greatest threat. Drash had never cared   
for the things himself. The simulations he'd flown using an   
Advanced made him feel slow and thick-skinned, lacking the   
sensitivity, blade-fine danger and speed of an Interceptor or   
Dagger.  
  
The Advanced fighters engaged the coralskippers. They   
had seen the four great warships vanish out of existence before   
their eyes, but sheer Imperial arrogance wouldn't allow them to   
believe fighers made of rocks could match the technological   
marvels they flew.  
  
They soon learned otherwise as their shields were pulled   
off and the durasteel hulls were bombarded by plasma.  
  
"Green Eight, Green ten, flank those things and take some   
pressure off the Advanceds!" Green Three ordered, Greens One   
and Two having been vaped minutes earlier.  
  
"I can't jump to hyperspace!" One of the Advanced pilots   
shouted. "There's some kind of Interdiction field around the   
planet!"  
  
"Then don't try and run!" Azure One ordered. "You've got   
missiles, use 'em! We'll tire the things out for you!" A few of the   
TIE fighters had panicked, broke formation and tried to flee, and   
had been vaped by the coralskippers for their trouble, but most had   
adhered to the Imperial discipline Thrawn had enforced. They   
fought well, but were outnumbered and being quickly reduced.  
  
Drash swerved just in time to avoid a rocklike projectile   
that could have crippled his ship, then executed a maneuver that   
put the coralskipper in his sights. The enemy reacted instantly,   
diving as soon as it felt the sting of blasterfire on it's 'body.' It was   
very interesting the way these coralskippers fought, the reaction   
time was instantanious, as though the pilot's mind drove the vessel,   
not hands on the controls.  
  
Fighting these Yuuzhan Vong things was a hundred, a   
thousand times better than the sims portrayed. Drash felt truly   
challenged, pushed to his limits and beyond. Chaos swirling   
around him, life, death, another wingman down, another enemy   
sent burning into the atmosphere. Glorious! At last he was   
approaching transcendence, he could feel it!  
  
When the coralskippers drove the Imperial fighters down   
into the atmosphere and began to converge to block any route back   
to orbit, it was clear to Azure One what was happening.  
  
"They're trying to get us the way they got the bombers!" He   
yelled over the comm. "Get out of the atmosphere before we're in   
range of those missiles!" He spoke too late: a dozen surface-to-air   
projectiles of yorrik coral launched from the closest coral field   
while the fighters chased each other across the blue sky.  
  
"Red Squad, break off and knock those things out before   
they reach us!" An Advanced pilot ordered as he shattered a   
coralskipper with a missile of his own. "Everyone else head for   
the marshlands and away from those coral fields!" Hopefully   
they'd be out of range over areas of the planet unaltered by the   
Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
But they couldn't keep this up.  
  
"All Squadrons, this is Azure Leader, take your fighters   
down! We've got to land, go planetside."  
  
"What are you talking about? We'll be stranded!"  
  
"Do it! We'll be slaughtered if we stay up here and there's   
no point heading up, we don't have hyperdrives so we can't get   
outsystem." Besides, they were running out of fuel anyway. "At   
least we'll have a chance on the ground! Azure Squad'll stay and   
keep them busy, everyone else scatter and go to ground in the   
marshes, try to meet up later. Advanced pilots, try and get beyond   
the interdiction field. Report what happened here!"  
  
*******************************************  
A single Yuuzhan Vong sat cross-legged in the center of a   
circular, underground room. A cognition hood covered his head,   
its long umbilical cord connected him to the wall. Ten large and   
powerful dovin basals, pulsing in unison, sat in regularly spaced  
niches in the single, curving wall that made up the chamber. A long   
nerve-cord sprouted from the top of each dovin basal, ran up the   
wall and along the ceiling to converge at a small oriface at the   
roof's center.  
  
From there the ten cords entwined inside the tall spire of   
yorrik coral above ground, making a focusing tower. Working   
together with their power so concentrated, the ten dovin basals not   
only created strong gravitational fields but could harness the gravity of   
the planet itself. Under the direction of the Vong wearing the   
cognition hood the focusing tower could create strong gravitational   
anomolies anywhere around the planet's orbit, including placing a   
small black hole within each of the Imperial battleships. It   
could also set up a large interdiction field to keep the enemy from   
escaping into hyperspace.  
  
Prefect Ke'Nass stood outside the circular room and   
glanced at the Vong controler before returning his angry gaze to   
the villip-generated visual field that displayed what was left of the   
battle. He took an ornately carved crystal goblet from an attending   
Nesz slave and sipped at the lightly spiced moak wine. The enemy   
fighters were falling into panic and being slaughtered by the   
squadrons of coralskippers that had been waiting in ambush ever   
since the Vong had detected the reconnisanse flight yesterday.   
Likewise the bombers had been annihilated by the guided surface-  
to-air missiles before more than a few bombs had been dropped.  
  
"The battle goes well, Prefect." One of his subordinates, a   
female in vonduun shell-armor, said.  
  
"Indeed," he said bitterly, "a fine victory."  
  
The trouble was the victory hadn't been his! It had been   
Sang Anor who had anticipated an attack on the seed world and   
began the focusing tower's construction almost the minute the   
Yuuzhan Vong had taken control of Sevac III. Sang Anor had   
ordered the placement of the missiles and outlined what to do in   
case of attack. He, Ke'Nass, had simply put those orders into   
effect, he might as well not have even been here. This was Sang   
Anor's victory by proxy: all the Prefect had done was follow   
another man's battle plan!  
  
He turned away from the images and paced a bit. It was   
humiliating that a Vong of his ability had been left behind to   
pacify slaves and look over a seed world while the Executor waged   
a war against the infidel. There was no glory in this, no chance for   
escalation, intolerable!  
  
Sang Anor. He though he was so much better than   
Ke'Nass. It had been the same even when they were both Prefects:   
even then he was constantly showing the other up, always two   
steps ahead of everyone. The man had Yun Harla's own cunning.   
And now he steals all the honors and glory that should have gone   
to me! He drained the goblet in one swig and held it out, rightly   
assuming the slave would be there to grab it when he openned his   
hand. He started for the door that led outside.  
  
"Prefect?" The other Yuuzhan Vong pointed to the images.   
"The battle is still underway, several of the enemy are heading for   
the surface. They are out of missile range."  
  
Ke'Nass stopped and rolled his eyes. "Most of the garrison   
is flying corralskippers. They will have to hunt the infidels on foot   
in the marshes once they have cleared them from the sky." The   
Prefect had no doubt the Yuuzhan Vong warriors would make   
short work of the aggressors. They were only infidels after all. To   
think that talents like his were put to such a waste.  
  
"Is that wise? It might be better to have the coralskippers   
concentrate on the landing fighters and leave the rest for later.   
They are not capable of going beyond realspace-"  
  
The Prefect spun around, his face an angry sneer. "Perhaps   
you should talk to the Executor. I'm certain he has a better plan   
in mind!" He snarled at the female, then left the focus tower.   
Moak wine, a variety of distilled blood fermented with gnrith   
mold, was lightly spiced and likewise only lightly intoxicating.   
Ke'Nass would get hold of some stronger stuff and summon one of   
his wives to comfort him in his time of woe.  
  
*******************************************  
The Hit'n Fade exited hyperspace too close to the planet,   
just as Vergere had planned. The headlong rush would make it   
impossible for the Vong to scramble fighters to meet them. She   
hadn't expected to encounter an interdiction field around the   
planet, she hadn't known dovin basals could combine and   
concentrate their power to this extent. Neither had she expected to   
see blasterfire flashing across the skies below. The last of the TIE   
Advanced flew across the cruiser's bow, nearing the edge of the   
Interdiction field, only to be overtaken and destroyed before it   
could jump.  
  
It looks like Thrawn has launched his attack. She   
thought with a sinking heart. But wait, where are the battleships?   
He wouldn't have sent just fighters.  
  
"We're here." Oin said, his voice held the quiet wonder of   
one who has found something he had forgotten was lost. "Home."  
  
"Yes, well the next few minutes will decide if we ever set   
foot on your world. Hurry!" They were in a corridor at the outer   
edge of the cruiser watching a monitor with images patched in   
from the bridge. Quickly they ducked into an escape pod and   
began strapping themselves in. She could only hope they could get   
close enough before the Yuuzhan Vong had time to move against   
them.  
  
Following the preset program, the pirate cruiser launched   
all escape pods as it neared the atmosphere. Then, before the   
Vong controlling the focusing tower could implode the new   
battleship, the Hit'n Fade's self-destruct initiated.  
  
The blast rocked the escape pod and shook the teeth in   
Vergere's head. Oin pressed back against the wall and clutched his   
safety straps. With luck, the other escape pods and falling debris   
would distract the Yuuzhan Vong and keep them from blowing   
their own occupied pod out of the sky. A switch controlling the   
pod's thrusters was near Vergere's hand, but she didn't touch it.   
Instead she used the Force to gently guide the falling pod, nudging   
it away from the blank, empty spaces that was lands converted by   
the Yuuzhan Vong and toward the Force-rich area of the marsh   
lands.  
  
She was lucky the worldship was no longer in-system: the   
yammosk would have surely detected her mind by now and   
directed the coralskippers to destroy the occupied pod. The first   
time she had come here, following the Yuuzhan Vong in her   
newly-aquired frieghter, the war coodinator had been too occupied   
in converting the seed-world to notice her, and she had put herself   
in a Force-trance when she had left, slowing down her life-process   
until she became invisible to the scanning mind of the yammosk.   
She wondered, suddenly, how it was that Oin had gone unnoticed   
as he had stown away on her frieghter.  
  
Something, most likely a piece of debris, impacted the side   
of their shuttle, jerking the Jedi's mind back to present concerns.  
  
*****************************************  
Azure One hadn't expected to survive this battle. He was a   
young Chiss of low birth and station who had left his Homeworld   
to follow Mith'raw'nuruodo, and never regretted his decision, not   
even now. Under Thrawn he had attained the rank and   
responsibility he never could have achieved at home, and he was   
doing something useful. Protecting his people and giving order   
and stability to these chaotic sectors of space. The day he had   
joined the Empire he had known he might have to lay down his life   
in it's defense.  
  
Another thing he hadn't expected was to see the small but   
growing shape of a strike cruiser appear above. His first thought   
was that Thrawn had send reinforcements, but his trained eye   
instantly recognized the ship's profile. The vessel was not built to   
function in atmosphere, so either the Yuuzhan Vong were pulling   
the ship down to the surface, which made no sense, or the captian   
was going to crash his battleship.  
  
A rocklike projectile struck the edge of his wing and stuck   
on. It began to eat through the solar panel. Another coralskipper   
shattered under the bombardment of a TIE Dagger. Good shot,   
Azure Six. He thought. The new pilto, Tevock, was more than   
holding his own. He had taken out more coralskippers already   
than the rest of the squadron put together.  
  
He hadn't thought Azure Squadron would last very long: if   
they at least managed to buy some time for the other TIEs to get to   
safety that would be more than enough. Another TIE fighter was   
hit and spun down to the ground, leaving a trail of smoke. There   
were only a handful of Imperials left in the air including Tevock   
and himself. Azure One found himself wishing his father and   
younger brothers could see him now.  
  
He was still preparing to go out in a blaze of glory when he   
noticed a sudden lack of enemies. His screens confirmed that the   
enemy fighters had broken off to engage the battleship, leaving the   
remains of Azure Squadron. He glanced up just in time to see the   
cruiser explode in a flowering fireball just as it reached the upper   
atmosphere. Then debris was falling like meteors around the   
fighters. A twisted hunk of metal crashed into a coralskipper   
while another narrowly missed his own Interceptor.  
  
"Azure Squadron break off!" He ordered over the comm.   
"This is our chance! Go to ground!" The fighters began to decend.   
Except for one.  
  
Drash did not fly away like the others. His latest target was   
still in his sights, slow and awkward as it's dovin basals   
weakenned. It dodged a flaming ball of metal and flew right into   
Drash's blaster bolts. The coralskipper's cockpit and the pilot   
inside liquified and the once-living fighter fell. The coralskippers   
were scattering to avoid the falling debris and a hot flash of pure   
fury caught at Drash. His commander's orders he disregarded. His   
targets were running!  
  
No! He almost had it! This could have been it: the perfect   
kill, the moment of pure trancendence worth dying for! How   
dare they take it from him! He was almost tempted to follow   
those fleeing coralskippers, to take them out one-by-one until they   
turned and acknowledged him.  
  
But no, it wouldn't be right. He banked and swerved   
downward to join his squadron. He would ground himself for   
now, crawl through the swamps with the rest of the Imperials. His   
moment would come eventually, and he would meet his fate on his   
own terms: in the sky.  
  
*******************************************  
Sang Anor called his son into his private chambers the   
moment Nom Anor docked his coralskipper in the worldship. The   
young Yuuzhan Vong snapped his fists to opposite shoulders on   
entering the room but Sang Anor waved for him to be silent when   
he began his report on the progress of the spore-infestations and   
the chaos he had witnessed firsthand in Imperial territory.  
  
The Executor was seated before a small table, elbows   
resting on the surface and taloned fingers steepled. He did not take   
his eyes from an inert villip perched on the tabletop. He gestured   
briefly for Nom Anor to approach him and stood up slowly and   
deliberatly.  
  
"As you might have guessed, Nom Anor, I have been   
keeping watch for the Jedi ever since you reported seeing her on   
the Miashku world. Two days ago I recieved a report from an   
agent I had placed in a pirate gang calling themselves the Xanian   
Liberators. The pirates had just lost one of their strike cruisers   
while trying to board and capture a small frieghter." He turned his   
face to Nom Anor, and the young Yuuzhan Vong flinched at the   
cold light in his father?s eyes.  
  
"The interesting thing is that it took only two beings to   
subdue the battleship's crew and depart with it. The two creatures   
aboard the frieghter. One of which was a small being in a hooded   
cloak, the other bearing a strong resemblance to the natives of our   
seed world, one of which you saw with the Jedi." Sang Anor   
walked past his son to stand before a large wall niche covered with   
transparent material. The yorik coral that normally hid it had slid   
back to reveal the bones of a Yuuzhan Vong assembled in a sitting   
posture with legs crossed and fingertips touching knees. Black   
eyesockets returned his gaze. Carbon-scoring, such as that which   
is caused by a slashing lightsaber, marred the ribs just over where   
the heart had beat.  
  
"I have just recieved a report from our seed world," Sang   
Anor continued, speaking as though to the skull-face level with his   
own and using that terribly calm voice that meant he was at his   
most dangerous, "the Imperials launched an attack there. It was   
repulsed, of course, but then a strike cruiser conforming to the one   
stolen by the Jedi appeared over the battle and self-destructed as it   
reached to atmosphere." He clasped his hands behind his back.   
"The Jedi has returned to the seed world. She is there even now,   
somewhere."  
  
"But why?" Nom Anor said. "It makes no sense. She   
cannot possibly escape, what is she trying to accomplish?"  
  
"I don't know. Perhaps this is part of some agreement she   
made with Thrawn. She could intend to lead the natives in an   
uprising." He shrugged. "All that matters is that the Jedi must be   
dealt with once and for all. For what she did and for what she   
might yet do against us." He turned. "But I cannot go myself, and   
there is only one other I would trust with such a task." Nom Anor's   
eyes widened and his face flushed, then paled, as he understood.   
"Kneel."  
  
In a single, fluid movement Nom Anor dropped to his   
knees as the Executor stood before him. Sang Anor reached down   
and clasped the other's right shoulder in his clawed hand. "Do you   
accept this charge, Nom Anor? Will you do your duty to the   
Yuuzhan Vong and Domain Anor?"  
  
Nom Anor lifted his chin and met his father?s eyes. "I do,   
Master." With those words he felt Sang Anor's grip tighten with   
crushing pressure on his shoulder. He did not allow himself to   
flinch or drop his eyes as the Executor's claws dug deep into his   
shoulder and he felt the hot blood running down his chest and side.  
  
"So be it, son of Domain Anor." With his free hand, Sang   
Anor lightly brushed the left side of Nom Anor's face, as if in a   
caress, before sinking his talons into the flesh and drawing them   
down his son's face, leaving deep gores in their wake, furrows that   
would leave long scars on the once-smooth face. "Accept my   
blessing as you accept my charge." He drew his arm back and   
clenched his hand into a fist, then struck Nom Anor across the   
right side of his face.  
  
Sang Anor put all his strength behind the blow and it   
knocked the younger Vong to the floor, but he was on his feet an   
instant later. His left cheekbone was broken, and though he could   
feeling it mending and knitting even now he knew it would set   
badly and leave his face void of symmetry.  
  
He stood proudly, displaying his scars, and met Sang   
Anor's eyes as an equal. "Now go, Nom Anor, and lay the Jedi's   
broken body at my feet that I might feed it to the yammosk."  
  
Nom Anor bowed low. "Your will be done, Father."  
  



	6. Default Chapter Title

Chapter Six  
  
The Empire's long and careful buildup of power in the   
Unknown Regions was swiftly falling apart. Captain Parck feared   
things would degenerate into an avalanche that would bury them   
all if something isn't done to diffuse the situation.  
  
Coerl's broadcasts were flooding the comm channels and   
the panic was being fanned to a fever pitch as more and more   
planets had to be quarenteened. So far it was only a handful of   
worlds in four sectors but every other system seemed convinced   
that plagues were running rampant through their own planets and   
that the victims were being hidden in the 'death camps' Coerl had   
displayed.  
  
The Chiss, loyal to a fault to the Grand Admiral, were   
grumbling against the Imperials that had supposedly brought the   
plagues down on them, while the Imperial humans, who knew very   
well the diseases hadn't come from them, blamed the races of the   
barbaric Unknown Regions for infecting 'them,' and the Chiss fell   
into that catagory.  
  
Abrasiveness and outright brawling between humans and   
Chiss increased on every ship and base as old prejudices that had   
begun to fade now returned with a vengence. A few of these fights   
had ended in the death of a human or Chiss, only a blessed few so   
far and quickly hushed up, but Parck feared it was only the first   
flickering flames signalling the conflagration to come.  
  
Some of the planets Thrawn had brought into the Empire   
were even attempting to withdraw back into independence. Most   
were newcomers but two had been with the Empire for years now,   
enjoying the order and stability it provided them. They couldn?t be   
allowed to secede, of course. Thrawn did his best to diffuse each   
case diplomatically but in three cases troops had to be sent in. For   
a long time the Empire had kept those worlds willingly, with the   
full support and cooperation of the public. Now force was used   
and the thing Thrawn had feared most was coming to pass: the   
Imperials were seen not as liberators, but as tyrants.  
  
Word was leaked out, prompting riots that spread across   
solar systems with five more breaking out as each one was put   
down. To make matters worse, one of the outbreaks had occurred   
on the Miashku homeworld, making it necessary to quarenteen the   
main trade center of the Zoab sector. The High Council raged   
against these new strictures and with Star Destroyers parked in   
orbit around the planet with orders to open fire on any ship that   
tried to take off or land it didn't take long for the entire economy   
of the sector to be thrown into chaos. All possible allies in Zoab   
turned hostile to the Imperial presence.  
  
The fleet was effectively tied up with occupying and   
defending the worlds to even think about a major offensive, and   
Coerl or Coerl's controllers were taking full advantage of this.   
Since the first broadcast the Warlord?s first broadcast Imperial   
holding had been subject to constant hit and run attacks by Coerl's   
fleet. The Imperials easily repelled the assaults, but the goals of   
those attacks were not to achieve victory but to help tie up the   
fleet. Even the strike force Thrawn had sent against Sevac III had   
not returned.  
  
Worse, as the attacks progressed and it became apparent to   
all what resources Coerl was expending in his offensives against   
the Empire the other Warlords in and around Zoab sector were   
starting to take notice. If this wasn't some kind of ruse to divert   
them, if the most powerful Warlord in Zoab sector believed the   
Empire was such a great threat he was willing to strip warships   
from defending his own territory and attacking theirs then perhaps   
they should do something as well. The Warlords that had once   
been content to pull back and defend their own borders from   
Imperial encroachment now began tenative attacks of their own,   
like scavenger-jackels who sensed the great predator was wounded   
and bleeding.  
  
And all the while the death tolls continued to rise on the   
quarenteened worlds, not to mention those planets outside Imperial   
control, which gave rise to even more panic. The diseases rejected   
every treatment the medical teams came up with and continued to   
spread and worsen no matter what sanitary and containment   
measured used and many of the medics and groundside troops   
themselves became infected.  
  
Meanwhile every report, every last scrap of information   
regarding the situation went straight to Thrawn. Despair settled   
over Parck like like a durasteel-mesh blanket, weighing him down   
as he entered the Admiral's private chambers. He remembered   
how confident he'd been on the bridge of this marvelous flagship.   
He had silently dared the Yuuzhan Vong to do their worst. He   
grimaced. Sang Anor had shaken the fleet to it's foundation. All   
they'd built was tottering on the brink.  
  
The sight of the Grand Admiral made him shiver. Thrawn   
paced around command chair and viewscreens. Music played   
around them and selections from his holographic art gallery filled   
the room, stimulations to encourage thought, but it was the   
Admiral himself who drew Parck?s attention.  
  
He looked...haggard. His hair in disarray and his skin a   
paler shade of blue than usual. Parck wondered how much sleep   
Thrawn had gotten since the crisis began and when he turned   
toward his subordinate Parck stopped short at the brightness of that   
glowing gaze, revealing the intensity of his thoughts and the   
powerful spirit that was keeping him going.  
  
"We beat back an attack on Duulo," he said at last, "base   
personel report minimal casualties." Thrawn only nodded and   
turned back to the viewscreens.  
  
"They have put us on the defensive, Captain." He ran a   
steady hand through his hair. Parck swallowed. The   
unpreturbable Admiral never showed signs of anxiety. "We fight   
smoke and wind while the true enemy stays in the shadows." He   
studied the screens. "At least eight different diseases, all of which   
affect a wide variety of life forms negatively." He shook his head.   
"There must be an answer, Captain, a flaw in Sang Anor's plans.   
He has made a mistake somewhere, I can feel it."  
  
Parck frowned. Thrawn seemed to be reaching desperately   
for a solution. He prayed the stress had not broken the Admiral.   
Suddenly the weight pressing down on him seemed light compared   
to the burden Thrawn carried. He wished he could take some of   
that burden on his own shoulders.  
  
Thrawn gave a light chuckle. "Don't worry, Captain, I have   
neither become unhinged nor am succombing to wishfull thinking,   
although I have to admit that a hunch has saved my life more than   
once. My conclusions are based on more concrete evidence. I   
have a feeling for our enemy and how he thinks. Sang Anor has   
overlooked something. We must find that mistake before the   
situation becomes too extreme to diffuse."  
  
"But the root of the situation is the plagues, and we can?t   
fight a disease like we can a battle."  
  
"They were deployed as weapons, Captain, that means they   
can be countered. It-" he stopped, frowning at a report on a   
viewscreen. "This is strange. Captain look at this." Parck stepped   
forward and read a report on Tesen, one of the quarenteened   
worlds in the Kamark sector. "Well?"  
  
"It looks the same as the other plague worlds." Parck   
ventured.  
  
"Yes, but look at this." Thrawn pointed. "There are two   
inhabited planets in that star system. Tesen and it's sister planet   
Seten. There is constant trade and travel between the two worlds,   
at least until Tesen's quarenteen, and while there have been a few   
isolated cases of plague on Seten, but no outbreaks like on Tesen."   
Thrawn stood and closed his eyes a moment. "Of course." He   
whispered.  
  
"Sir?" Parck ventured, but Thrawn was already in his chair   
and calling up more reports on the screens.  
  
"I've been a fool." His eyes burned. "The answer was right   
in front of me the whole time and I didn't see it." Plague reports   
and diagrams lit up in front of him. "The Jedi mentioned spores   
when she told me about the Yuuzhan Vong. Biological agents   
enhanced by Shapers. But they are poisons, not diseases. Neither   
self-propogating nor capable of being passed from host to host."  
  
"But these plagues are contagious and self-reproducing,   
how else could the ailments continue?"  
  
"It is not a question of contagion, but of geography. Look,   
Kas, a major port-city and the site of one of the first outbreaks."   
An overhead view of a computer-simulated city. Parck studied the   
tops of the ling-drawn buildings. "The first cases of plague were   
here." A red circle covered ten blocks of the city. "And a few   
hours later." The circle expanded to cover half the city. "And by   
the end of the day." The diagram shrunk as the circle expanded yet   
again, to cover the city and half the countryside. "It is too precise   
to be natural. And see, as the wind-patterns change, so change the   
spread of the "plague.?"  
  
He turned his face to the Captain. "We are dealing with   
airborne spores, not pathogens, and here, at ground-zero..." The   
diagram shrunk down to show those first few city blocks. "The   
mechanism to create the spores and launch them into the air."   
Thrawn smiled. "Have the Imperator set course for the nearest   
quarenteened world. We may just have found the way to turn the   
tide."  
  
***************************************  
From orbit around the once-popular port-world of Zdane,   
now blockaded by Imperial ships and an Interdiction cruiser, the   
Imperator launched it's remote-probe droids.  
  
Six spherical pods crashed, throwing up clouds of duracrete   
chips. The pods cracked open and shiny black probe droids   
hovered up, unfolding long, many-jointed arms as they rose. Flat-  
topped heads whirled as they turned and optical sensors irised open   
and narrowed in focus. The six droids floated away from their   
crater-like landing sites and took in the surrounding cityscape,   
transmitting what they saw to the flagship far above.  
  
Grand Admiral Thrawn stood over the six droid controllers   
sitting at their stations in the bridge-pit. Captain Parck stood   
beside him and they both watched the small viewscreen that   
relayed the optical readings from the droids. The probes hovered   
past corpses that had been left to rot where they lay and hovercars   
that had crashed into the sides of buildings and storefronts. The   
city had been abandoned and evacuated in the first day of plague   
where beings had succumbed like a field of dry grass to a spark of   
flame.  
  
Graffitti had been scrawled on a few walls, curses and   
pleas to various gods. There had been some looting, with many of   
the perpetrators falling over dead a few meters away from the   
stores with their goods scatteres around them, and a lot of simple,   
mindless destruction as stress or disease had broken some beings'   
minds entirely.  
  
Mostly, though, the city was silent and undesturbed: the   
plague had taken hold too quickly for any real damage to be done   
and although auditory sensors were set at maximum the probes   
heard nothing but the wind blowing past. The tomblike silence   
affected even those aboard the Star Destroyer: the controllers and   
even Captain Parck shivered reflexively.  
  
Thrawn broke the spell. "Get a reading of the air." He said   
with an air of command the others were grateful for. If what he   
saw disturbed him, he didn't show it.  
  
"Done, sir." A controller said. "Beginning analysis." He   
read the results his droid signalled up, scrolling down the lower   
half of his viewscreen. A body lay in the droid?s field of vision,   
once it had lain full-length on it's belly, hands outstretched. Now   
time had twisted it back upon itself. It was the body of a human   
child. The controller pushed a toggle and the droid?s head   
revolved to face an empty patch of street.  
  
"Microscopic spores, sir, the air is thick with them."  
  
  
"As I thought," Thrawn nodded sharply, "move out." He   
instructed the controllers to split up into two teams. "You, take   
point," he said to the first controller, "you two, flank him. The rest   
of you spread out and follow them at a distance. Be ready to   
reinforce the first team or warn them of ambush. I don't expect   
any active Yuuzhan Vong planetside, but they are likely to have   
left defenses behind."  
  
They did their best to ignore the corpses as they made for a   
piece of property in the poor section of the city. A building that   
had been, according to records Thrawn had obtained, leased less   
than a day before the initial outbreak by a party whose   
identification proved to be cheap forgeries under inspection. A   
party that had paid with ready cash: coins and gems that could   
have easily been taken from ships highjacked by the Yuuzhan   
Vong.  
  
On another viewscreen the probes appeared as six blips   
moving through an overhead-view diagram of the city. Moving   
toward an abandoned building that stood at the center of the first   
red circle of outbreaks.  
  
When they were within a few blocks of the buildings the   
leading droid passed through a pheremone barrier Nom Anor had   
set just before his team had left the soon-to-be-doomed planet.   
The broken chemical-trail signalled the release of tiny sentry-bugs   
that flew from their hiding placed and darted down the street far   
ahead of the droids. They flew through the open window of an   
abandoned warehouse and down into a dank basement where two   
dozen large nutrient-pods hung from the ceiling. Settled down on   
the pods and secreted enzymes that began the awakening process.  
  
Seconds later two dozen grutchin had torn their way out of   
the pods and were exiting the building through broken windows,   
shattered doors or any other way out they could find. The small   
horde couldn?t pass the pheremone barrier, but the insectoids could   
and would tear apart anything that moved. And they would relish   
every moment.  
  
"Sir, I thought I saw something move!" A flanking   
controller swivelled his droid?s head.  
  
"The quiet's just getting to you." The lead said.  
  
"No." Thrawn spoke at last. "There it is again. Stay   
sharp." Before the words were out of his mouth the first team was   
under attack.  
  
The lead barely saw the grutchin that charged him: only a   
black shape that blurred towards him before rebounding on the   
droid's personal shield. "Something hit me!" He put a targeting   
triangle on his screen and fired at the creature. Blasters mounted   
on the droid's head spat energy beams, but the grutchin was   
already moving and more were appearing around corners and out   
of alleyways.  
  
Even when viewed onscreen the insectoids made Parck feel   
nausious, an automatic reaction. The three droids stood back to   
back as they were quickly surrounded. A wave of five grutchin   
attacked, followed by five more. The droids openned fire but the   
creatures were too fast, zigzagging as they moved to make more   
difficult targets. Blaster bolts hit walls and street more often than   
grutchin. What's more, the insects' tough, chitinous exoskeletons   
allowed them to take more than a few direct hits without harm.  
  
Thrawn watched the grutchin as they charged the probe   
droids again and again, failing to penetrate the shields each time   
but still attacking with single-minded fever. And according to the   
reading the shields were beginning to weaken  
  
"Stay there and make a lot of noise." He told the first team.   
"Have you been spotted?" He asked the second team. Auditory   
sensors picked up the sounds of the battle, from behind buildings,   
but they were out of sight of the first team and each other.  
  
"I've picked up three of the beasts." One said, his droid   
being harrassed on three sides.  
  
"I don't think-Ah!" He exclaimed in shock as a grutchin   
popped into his field of vision, pincers lunging for the droid.  
  
"Nothing." The third said. "I don't think they've seen me."  
  
"Good. Continue. The rest of you keep them occupied."   
The single blip was soon at the target building. A closed door   
blocked the way and the droid lifted one limb and one of the many   
tools and instruments built into the arm sprung forth. The droid   
removed the hinges and claw-grips on two other arms took hold of   
either side and set the door down.  
  
It was I tight fit, but the droid got through and entered the   
large lobby beyond. The structure was an abandoned hotel, there   
was no power input the windows had been sealed months ago.   
The controller switched the optics to night vision and proceeded,   
hovering over a chipped tile floor.  
  
"Where to now, sir?" The controller asked. Thrawn   
narrowed his eyes.  
  
"Either the top floor or the basement." He decided at last.   
"Most likely the basement. The furnace room perhaps."  
  
The stairwell was too narrow for the droid, so it pried apart   
the elevator doors and decended the shaft, half by climbing with   
it's multiple arms and half by using it's own repulserlifts.  
  
The basement had a floor of plain grey duracrete, dusty   
with neglect. Rusted pipes lined the ceiling. The droid hovered   
down a short hallway. There were recent footprints disturbing the   
dusty floor, leading to a door. Presumably the furnace room   
Thrawn suspected.  
  
Parck felt a small shudder seize him as he saw the   
footprints. The beings who had wrought what he had seen in the   
city had trodden these floors, had touched these walls, had planned   
and executed this atrocity without hesitation.  
  
"I'm getting an odd reading for the air down here, sir." The   
controller said. "It doesn?t scan like the rest of the planet at all."  
  
The door slid open easily, and light flooded the hall. What   
Parck saw on the other side literally took his breathe away: the   
Yuuzhan Vong had left a greenhouse behind!  
  
Bright lumin bugs covered the ceiling, mimicing light from   
an alien sun. The walls were lined with moss that filled the room   
with alien air. The floor itself had been replaced by exotic soil   
from which purple and yellow grass grew and a small pond of   
opaque water filled the center of the room. The furnace itself was   
gone and about a dozen tall, green stalks grew at the far end,   
bristling with swollen pods. The droid could go no further: two   
spikey, heart-shaped dovin basals had put up a one-way restriction   
field. It allowed the air created by the moss to leave, but nothing   
of the outside atmosphere could enter the furnace room.  
  
"I thought so." Thrawn said. ?They would want to   
simulate the spore-bearer's native environment. It would be too   
suspicious if spore-plants began sprouting throughout   
quarenteened planets. I would guess the spores released die out   
soon unless absorbed by living beings. Focus on those stalks."   
Four of the other screens had cut off as the droids had been   
destroyed, the fifth was still active, but the diagnostic report said it   
was badly damaged. "I-wait! Something is happenning!"  
  
Before their eyes, the stalks did as they had done every day   
when the pods swelled: they released their spores.  
  
The pods squirted the spores out of tiny orifices at their   
tips, and as the pods began to deflate a bright red mist filled the   
room, as though the air itself was bloodied. The spores were   
microscopic, so billions upon billions must have been released to   
be visible to the naked eye.  
  
It only lasted for an instant, though, as a third dovin basal   
caught the spores in a gravitational anomoly and directed the mist   
up the pipe where the stove had once connected. From there they   
would exit through the narrow chimney and spread on the wind.  
  
"I have seen enough." Thrawn stepped back and turned.   
"Gunner, are the main turboblaster batteries locked on target?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Then fire at will."  
  
Bright beams of energy lanced from the warship and   
vaporized the building and everything beneath, completely   
overwhelming the dovin basals and incinerating them and all they   
protected.  
  
"Nicely done." He turned to Parck. "I surmise there are at   
least five spore-producers on the planet, considering the overall   
spread of the plague. Move the Imperator over the next target."   
He glanced at the controllers? screens. "After the spores die out   
we'll send in a cleanup crew to deal with the surprises the Vong   
left us."  
  
******************************************  
"Peoples of the Unknown Regions, for more than a week   
plague had ravaged our home, spreading with a fervor never before   
experienced. The Warlord Coerl would have us believe the   
Empire has carried these ailments among you, but he is decieving   
you. These plagues are a weapon deliberately deployed by Coerl   
himself against those worlds which have chosen to embrace the   
stability of the Empire, and against world he feared might follow   
their lead, in an effort to preserve and further his own power at the   
expense of all our lives."  
  
"I am not speaking simply to trade recriminations," Thrawn   
raised his hand, "but to offer a solution to the plagues, which are   
not true plagues at all but airbore spores released by exotic   
plantlife transplanted onto select worlds by Coerl's agents.   
Already the spore plants that have infected worlds under the   
Empire's control have been destroyed. Included in this transmition   
are the methods by which infected planets outside our control can   
locate these spore plants."  
  
"I advise the governments controlling those infected worlds   
to destroy the spore-sites from orbit, as they are very well   
defended. The spores themselves cannot reproduce, nor can they   
be passed from one host to another. Also, they are unable to take   
root and thrive in any environment but that of their own native   
planets and quickly die out upon being released unless ingested by   
a living being. Without the spore-producers to create and release   
them the plagues will quickly fade. As yet we can do little for   
those already infected but at least the ailments will not spread   
further."  
  
"As of now the quarenteens on Imperial worlds are lifted   
and the occupying ships are withdrawing. I apologize for the   
inconvienence the blockades have caused, but it was done to   
protect Imperial citizens, which is my highest priority." Thrawn   
closed his eyes and lowered his head, his expression becoming all   
the more solemn.  
  
"Finally, I cannot begin to express my sorrow at the deaths   
these spores have inflicted on all the beings of the of Unknown   
Regions, Imperial and otherwise. But most of all I feel for my   
fellow Chiss who trusted and followed me, and hopefully still do   
so. The spores were not an enemy you could fight with blasters or   
ships, they were a weapon used by a coward who refused to fight   
his enemies openly. I give you my word that medical teams will   
do all that is possible to find a treatment for the ailments, and that   
every death, every moment of suffering, will be avenged."  
  
******************************************  
Thrawn switched off the recording and ejected the   
datacard. "It will do." He said as he handed it to Parck. "Transmit   
it to every infected world outside our influence, and over all the   
comm channels."  
  
"Yes, sir. But if I may ask, why didn't you mention the   
Yuuzhan Vong instead of simply blaming Coerl?"  
  
"The infected and panic-stricken planets are worrying about   
the diseases now, Captain, it will appear to be nothing but an   
obvious distraction to describe a nebulous and outlandish new   
enemy at this point. At the very best I could come off looking   
deranged, at worst it would appear I have some sort of scheme or   
ulterior motive in mind. No, best to pin this on the obvious source:   
Coerl. After the immediate crisis has passed I will make the   
public aware of the Yuuzhan Vong and all they have done." He   
narrowed his eyes as he walked among his holograms.  
  
"I am reluctant to do even that. True, Sang Anor will find   
it next to impossible to plant agents in ooglith masquers with   
literally everyone on the alert for Yuuzhan Vong, but at the same   
time many innocent humans and Chiss will be subjected to   
persecution on suspicion of being Yuuzhan Vong themselves." He   
stopped before the hologram image of Hren Silra, the Yuuzhan   
Vong who had made an attempt on Thrawn's life.  
  
"At any rate the most immediate issue, the plagues, have   
been curtailed. There is still much to do and not everyone will be   
satisfied, but at least the pressure has been taken off our fleet.   
Now we can take a more proactive role against the Yuuzhan   
Vong."  
  
"You have a plan, sir?"  
  
"Of course." A slow smile played across Thrawn?s features.   
"One that we will put in motion immediatly after this transmition   
goes out, before Sang Anor hears of it and has time to put another   
plan into effect." He turned his unbearable gaze on the Captain.   
"The Executor has surprised us more than once, I think it's time we   
repaid him in kind."  
  



	7. Default Chapter Title

Chapter Seven  
  
"We are nearing a party of Nesz," Oin whispered, "I can   
sense them."  
  
"About time." Vergere nodded and folded her hands in the   
Robe's sleeves. It was hot in the marshes, but this was the climate   
Nesz thrived in so Oin was doing very well. Vergere, like any   
Jedi, could subtly alter and readjust her own body with the Force   
and was therefore quite comfortable. The many buzzing insects,   
small and large, avoided her unconsciously and the pests Oin   
attracted were more than welcome, as the young Nesz scooped   
them up with his wide, sticky tongue before they could suck so   
much as a drop of blood. Bugs were a fine source of protein for   
traveling Nesz.  
  
They had just crossed a wide bog by way of small, moss   
covered rock-islands useful as stepping stones. The distance from   
rock to rock would be difficult, if not impossible for most   
humanoids but Vergere jumped across with ease. The nimble Oin   
simply swam, and with astonishing speed.  
  
Vergere was grateful to be under the shade of the bora trees   
on the far side of the bog, the natural cover would both keep out   
the sun and hide them from coralskippers, pairs of which had   
begun flying low over the treetops and shooting anything that   
moved at irregular intervals since they had landed two days ago. It   
had taken some time to work their way through the marshes,   
especially as they had to make constant detours to avoid the   
spreading, black coral fields that were blighting the land.  
  
Normally very efficient, the Yuuzhan Vong had apparently   
decided to alter the entire planet instead of just the parts that were   
immediately useful. Vergere had a feeling this change in plans had   
something to do with them and the Imperials who were wandering   
around the planet, and the fact that the natives were nowhere near   
as docile and submissive as they had once been.  
  
Oin had been telling her all he could of what had been   
happening since they had left to contact the Empire and set in   
motion the chain of events that would doom this planet. While the   
Nesz were not telepathic: they were unable to share thoughts and   
read each other's minds, they did possess a strange rapport that   
was not quite a group mind.  
  
  
To put it simply, the Nesz were aware of one another. A   
Nesz would experience another's pleasure or pain as intensely as   
his or her own. This meant that Oin had a good idea of what had   
been going on here in his absence, and that the rest of the Nesz   
knew that he and Vergere had returned.  
  
The Nesz had gathered into many small parties and moved   
deeper into the marshes, to places that had as yet been untouched   
by the Yuuzhan Vong, but Oin informed her that a small party had   
been sent to meet and guide them.  
  
There was also much Oin did not say, and did not need to   
say. The young Nesz looked different now than he had when   
Vergere had first met him. He was grimmer, his eyes were harder,   
and he would occasionally flex his sharp claws or snap his teeth at   
some imaginary prey. The changes in Oin were characteristic of   
the changes in the entire Nesz race, a species that had never known   
war or murder. Had never truly experienced hate, even.  
  
Vergere felt it all around her, an imbalance in the planet   
itself. The natural order of things was in conflict with a force she   
could not sense, that appeared to her as nothing but a blank area in   
the ocean of life-energy that was the Force. But she could see the   
results of that conflict plainly enough.  
  
They had seen arrows and spears scattered in the grass   
almost as soon as they had left the escape pod. The simple   
weapons of the Nesz, used for hunting and spearing fish. The   
grass had been trampled, as would happen in a brief but violent   
skirmish. Blood dried on the stalks and the hate and desperation of   
those who had fashioned those arrows still clung to the weapons.  
  
Later they had come across two dead Nesz, hung from a   
tree upside down. They had died badly, very badly, tortured at   
length and then skinned alive. Vergere did not need to see what   
the scavengers had left of them to know that what had been done   
to those two had still tainted the Force around them. Their bows   
and spears had been broken and left at the foot of the tree, to mock   
them.  
  
  
Vergere had taken a step towards them, with an idea of   
cutting down the bodies and burying them. Oin pulled her back   
and shook his head wordlessly. Vergere understood: the Vong had   
undoubtedly set traps for anyone who tried to retrieve the bodies,   
as the Yuuzhan Vong themselves would try to gather up their own   
dead. The Nesz did not have that particular custom, though. To   
them, a corpse was like the dead skin the reptilian Nesz cast off   
and no longer needed.  
  
The Jedi had glanced at Oin, then had to look away from   
the cold, piercing gaze directed at the remains of his two   
comrades. She had not been able to shut out the terrible sense of   
recognition she had felt from Oin, though. Since the Nesz were   
so intimately connected, what they had done to those two had been   
experienced by every other Nesz, down to the smallest infant. It   
must have happened when Oin had shut himself away in his   
quarters for Vergere not to see and sense what was happening to   
her friend. How could he bear it?  
  
Did the Yuuzhan Vong even understand what they had   
done? Probably not.  
  
The next day they had come across a large pit which had   
been covered by a wooden frame and hidden from view by a carpet   
of woven grass. No longer. Vergere and Oin could easily look   
down at the three Yuuzhan Vong bodies, their dead amphistaffs   
and vonduun armor, where they had fallen through onto the   
sharpened stakes that lined the bottom. From there a party of Nesz   
had gathered around the pit and filled the Vong with arrows.   
Civilization had finally caught up with the beings of Sevac III.  
  
The sight had told them it was safe to stop and rest: if more   
Yuuzhan Vong had been here they would never have left their   
comrades' bodies to rot.  
  
Now they began to see other signs: blasterfire had left   
scorch-marks on a bora tree. Ration bar wraps thrown on the tall   
grass and trampled by booted feet. The Imperial pilots were   
learning what it was to fight the Yuuzhan Vong up close and   
personal.  
  
Vergere knew they were being watched the instant the   
observers' gaze fell on them. She said nothing to Oin, but after a   
moment she felt him realize it as well. At first she failed to   
recognize the beings around them. The simple fact that she could   
sense them meant they weren't Yuuzhan Vong, neither did they   
have the feel of humans or Chiss. It was a shock when she   
understood at last that it was the Nesz search party.  
  
  
Oin stopped and signaled her to do likewise. Then they   
simply stood for a few seconds, long enough for the watching Nesz   
to make certain this wasn't some sort of trap. Vergere felt the   
familiar prickling sensation that meant weapons were being trained   
on her, but she kept her hands visible at her sides. Yes, the Nesz   
had changed: just weeks ago they would have run, laughing and   
yelling, out at them and greeted her and Oin with friendly hugs and   
pats on the back. The creatures that watched them were silent as   
ghosts, suspicious of anything that moved, and didn't let down   
their guard for a second.  
  
Finally the leader of the searchers signaled to the others   
with a high-pitched whistle. At the sound of the birdcall, over a   
dozen Nesz dropped down from trees, stepped around their trunks   
or swam up from nearby ponds.  
  
Vergere shivered. These Nesz were gaunt and scarred, and   
to a one they were armed with bows, spears and daggers of   
sharpened rock or bone. It wasn't their fierceness that affected the   
Jedi, but the empty, hopeless eyes that settled on her. The Nesz   
were running on hate alone, they had given up on trying to defeat   
their enemy: for every Yuuzhan Vong they killed, five Nesz ended   
up dead or captured. Even if they were killing each other one-to-  
one there were still only a few hundred Nesz, perhaps not even that   
by now. They were fighting a war they could not win, and they   
knew it.  
  
The leader stepped forward. He was armed with a spear   
and an ugly burn marred one side of his face. "You have returned."   
He spoke gravely to Oin and Vergere. "Have you brought help?"  
  
Vergere couldn't think how to answer him. She didn't need   
to. "Yes." Oin responded in the same tone. "Take us to the   
others."  
  
****************************************  
"Look out!"  
  
"Do-ro'ik vong pratte!"  
  
Azure One, or Stent as he was known out of his fighter,   
ducked just in time to avoid being decapitated by a flying   
razorbug. He spun to face the Yuuzhan Vong who'd thrown it and   
shot at the tall, armored alien.  
  
The blast knocked the Vong down, but the armor protected   
him from harm. A second later he was getting up, amphistaff   
whirling in his hands, but the three other Yuuzhan Vong who had   
topped the rise were bounding past him and more were following.  
  
"Spread out!" He yelled as the Imperials met them with   
blasterfire. The TIE pilots had only been groundside a few days,   
but they were quickly learning how to survive. Experience was a   
particularly harsh teacher, and the ones still alive were the only   
graduates. More than a hundred pilots had landed and met up on   
the surface. Just over sixty were still here.  
  
They were divided into three groups of about twenty to   
avoid making themselves an obvious target and kept in touch via   
comm-link. Stent had decided on this after they had been spotted   
by a low-flying coralskipper just hours after landing. The first   
twelve men had died in that skip's passing bombardment.  
  
The survivors of Thrawn's strike force were all pilots, not   
ground troops, and while they were well-trained this wasn't their   
area of expertise. The only equipment they had came from the   
survival kits of their TIE fighters and what could be salvaged from   
the ships themselves before they had to be abandoned, and   
constant attacks by Yuuzhan Vong were taking a heavy toll.  
  
The men with Stent reacted without to this latest attack   
without hesitation, spreading out to surround the Vong as they   
charged. Razorbugs buzzed through the air and blaster bolts   
streaked and left ozone trails in their wakes. The Yuuzhan Vong   
charged, screaming war-cries as they came. Stent counted eight   
black, silver-trimmed forms. A match for the twenty Imperials   
with him. Stent and the others knew by now how deadly the   
Yuuzhan Vong were in close quarters: their amphistaffs could cut   
through flesh like soft cheese, and though their armor was   
powerful, the Vong could move with stealth and stunning agility   
and speed, not to mention the invaders? sheer physical strength:   
yesterday one of Stent's wingmen quite literally had his head taken   
off by a single swipe from a Yuuzhan Vong's gauntlet-covered   
hand.  
  
Unfortunately they could only be killed at close range: their   
armor would deflect blasterfire from a distance.  
  
  
A human's scream of agony resounded in the thick march   
air, but Stent couldn't afford to take his glowing eyes off the   
Yuuzhan Vong. When he estimated the Vong was in range of a   
kill-shot he squeezed the trigger, wishing the pilots had more   
powerful blaster rifles instead of just pistols.  
  
The Vong jumped and pivoted his upper body as Stent   
fired. The energy bolt grazed the chestplate and left a burn-score   
across it, but did no damage to the being underneath. The enemy   
stabbed with his amphistaff. The eyeholes gleamed and Stent   
knew there was a triumphant, bloodthirsty grin beneath the   
Yuuzhan Vong's mask.  
  
The Chiss was already off his feet and rolling. The   
Serpent's sharp tail sliced only air and Stent landed on his side with   
his arms out and blaster leveled. The Vong spun and arced his   
staff downward. Stent's eyes blazed as he pulled the trigger again   
and sent his blaster bolt burning at, into and through the enemy's   
mask. The Vong collapsed, dead instantly, and Stent quickly   
rolled away and got to his feet before the amphistaff could strike at   
him. Another thing the Imperials had quickly learned was that a   
fallen warrior's amphistaff would stay near its master's body and   
attack any non-Vong who got within reach.  
  
He scrambled to his feet again, alert for more targets, only   
to find the battle was over. The Imperials' quick reaction had   
saved their lives, and probably reduced the casualties they might   
otherwise have taken. Only one of theirs was down, which was   
one too many, but black armored corpses littered the ground as   
well.  
  
"We got lucky." Stent said grimly.  
  
"We showed them." A Chiss corrected, blaster held loosely   
in his hand. He glanced down and kicked one of the bodies.   
"Filthy things." He glared at the corpse while a Vong body behind   
him bounded to his feet.  
  
"Behind you!" The Chiss spun around, but was just a little   
slow to take aim. The Yuuzhan Vong whirled his amphistaff in   
one hand and snapped it against his inner forearm so that the razor-  
sharp tail pointed behind him and the serpent's head was level with   
the Chiss' face. The staff's mouth gaped open and a glob of venom   
zinged from its open maw and struck the pilot across the bridge of   
the nose. The Chiss shrieked as venom ate into his glowing eyes.  
  
  
Stent fired, but the Yuuzhan Vong was already moving.   
Reversing his amphistaff, he arced the tail end around to slice the   
blinded pilot's upper leg. The Chiss' lower uniform quickly turned   
black with gushing blood and he fell to the ground.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong howled in victory, a disc-shaped   
razorbug appeared in his hand and he casually tossed it at Stent.   
The lethal bug was transformed into a buzzing blur that arrowed   
toward Stent's head. It was more instinct and luck than anything   
else that saved Stent's life: if he had thought before he fired he   
never would have made the shot. As it was, the bolt struck the   
razorbug in an explosion of burning innards.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong, however, had used those few seconds   
to close the distance between himself and Stent. What he assumed   
would be his last flash of thought as he saw the sharp tail stab at   
him was So now it's three down.  
  
The Vong fell at Stent's feet with a smoking hole in his   
back. The amphistaff reared to bite with eye-defying speed, and a   
booted foot stepped on it where the neck joined the head. Drash   
Tevock, the blaster he'd used on the charging Vong held firmly in   
hand, calmly shifted all his weight to his heel, snapping the staff's   
neck before it could harden its body in self-defense.  
  
"Thank you." Stent swallowed. The human's passive face   
didn't even register the complement.  
  
"I thought this one was faking." He glanced at the newly   
dead Vong with satisfaction. "I didn't see him get hit." He turned   
away, warily eyeing the surviving amphistaffs that lashed on the   
ground. The other seventeen Imperials were spreading out and   
watching for a second wave of Yuuzhan Vong. Stent heard a low   
groan and quickly ran to and knelt beside the injured Chiss.  
  
Through the pain, he had held onto sanity long enough to   
try and staunch the bleeding in his leg, but Stent could see that it   
was a bone-deep cut and that a lot of blood had been lost. He   
activated the comm link at his ear and tried to contact his two   
scouts. He got no signal from their comm links. He glanced up at   
the two Imperials nearest him.  
  
  
"Check ahead, see why the scouts didn't call a warning."   
He jerked his head toward the rise the Vong had crested. A couple   
of Imperials scouted the terrain just ahead of each party, to prevent   
the kind of ambush Stent's party had just run into. That they hadn't   
called in meant they were both likely dead. Quickly, he switched   
his comm link to a different frequency.  
  
"Kelli, this is Stent, over." He pitched his voice low.   
"Kelli, this is Stent. Over." The link buzzed in his ear and he   
heard the other pilot's voice.  
  
"Kelli here, over." Kelli led one of the other two parties of   
crashed Imperials, both of which were to the west of Stent's   
position.  
  
"We've been attacked." He said. "Eight Vong, all dead.   
Two-" he paused, glanced down at the wounded Chiss. His nose   
and cheeks were discolored and already being eaten away by the   
venom. His eyes no longer glowed, but were dark, dull blanks in   
an agonized face. He hissed air through clenched teeth. "Make   
that three down. And the scouts."  
  
"Blaster bolts," Kelli muttered, "well we haven't run into   
anything almost all day." He said, almost reluctantly, "and the   
terrain's easier too."  
  
"I don't like it either." Stent agreed. "It smells like a trap,   
and I feel like a nerf being herded to the slaughterhouse." He   
ground his teeth. "No choice though. My team'll swerve west,   
maybe catch some of your luck."  
  
"If we were lucky we'd be back at the base in Jaitec,   
enjoying the friendly natives." Kelli groused. The natives of   
Jaitec were a barbaric, semi-sentient race that had a fondness for   
Chiss and human meat. And they were angels compared to the   
Yuuzhan Vong. "The festering Vong are toying with us, Stent."  
  
"Like a spider with some plump insects in her web."   
Stent's burning eyes swept across the Vong corpses. "But they'll   
learn these flies have stings. Pass it on to the other party, Stent   
out." He turned off the comm link.  
  
  
"And here," the prone Chiss tried to sit up and fell back   
with a wince of pain, Stent caught his shoulders and helped as he   
could, "and here, I thought, I had problems." He tried to smile and   
failed miserably. Stent swallowed around a lump in his throat. It   
was Larsek, a longtime wingman of Azure Squadron. He and Stent   
had been friends since before they had left the Chiss homeworld to   
join Thrawn's growing fleet. Stent had even stood at Larsek's right   
hand during his friend's wedding: it was a rare thing for a bonded   
Chiss to exile himself from the homeworld, and an even rarer   
female, such as Larsek's young wife Jhaen, who would encourage   
and accompany her husband in something the Chiss rulers were so   
opposed to.  
  
"Larsek, you idiot." He snarled, but in fear of the other's   
life rather than in anger. "Can you see me at all?" Stent asked, his   
glowing eyes searing into the dead, black orbs in Larsek's face and   
getting no response, not even a blink.  
  
"I see, the towel someone, put over my face, not much,   
else." He was taking quick, shallow breathes, and had to stop and   
draw breath after every few syllables. Blood had saturated the   
makeshift bandage on his leg and was leaking through to stain the   
grass. Despite the grave situation Stent felt a smile tug at his face   
at the response that was at once so surprising and at the same time   
so like Larsek. Stent had sometimes wondered if he took anything   
seriously, yet there was no one he could depend on more. He tried   
to stifle the grin.  
  
The blinded Chiss somehow knew it. "You take things to   
seriously, Stent." He gasped. "You'll turn stiff as a carbonite   
statue without me around."  
  
"Don't talk like that." Stent said quickly and glanced up at   
the Chiss and humans busily stripping any valuable equipment   
from the two dead Imperials, getting ready to march out and   
otherwise pretending not to see Stent and Larsek. "We can rig up a   
splint for your leg, some antitoxin might work on your   
eyes...someone get me a med-kit!" He began to shout, but was   
stopped when Larsek reached back to clutch his arm feebly.  
  
"Don't waste it on me." Larsek said firmly. "I'm four-fifths   
finished and we both know it. Just make it quick and get moving."  
  
"Ah...Larsek..."  
  
"I got careless, you saw." He coughed and flecks of blood   
appeared on his shirt. "I'm a pilot after all, not a ground pounder.   
Even if you try and take me along I'll just slow you down, we both   
know you can't afford the risk." His face twisted in agony. "Just   
finish it quick, Stent."  
  
For a few seconds that seemed like an eternity Stent stared   
into those dead eyes, eyes that had pulsed with glowing light just   
minutes ago. "All right then." He heard himself say as he slowly   
lifted his blaster.  
  
"Just..." he had to swallow, "just promise me you wont die   
here like me. Promise you'll get out of this. And tell Jhaen and   
Holla..." his face crumpled, Holla was his only child, a daughter   
born only two years ago. "I can't even think of what to tell them."  
  
"I'll think of something for you." Stent promised as he   
pulled Larsek into a sitting position and pushed his head forward.   
Larsek made a noise that might have been a chuckle.  
  
"Don't tax your imagination too much, Stent. You'll give   
yourself brain-fever."  
  
"Yes." Stent reversed his blaster and held it by the barrel:   
power cells were low and they couldn't afford to waste a single   
shot that might be used on a Yuuzhan Vong. He raised his arm   
and brought it down swiftly, using the grip of his blaster like a club   
and striking Larsek on the back of the head where skull met neck.  
  
He searched for a pulse and felt nothing. Businesslike, like   
stripped the body of weapons and equipment and motioned one of   
the Imperials to help him lift the corpse. They lined up the three   
bodies under one of the trees, crossed arms over chests and   
covered their faces. There wasn't time for anything else.  
  
Stent surveyed his ragged and diminished party, took his   
place at the head of the column and led them forward, angling   
them to the west.  
  
*********************************************  
Ke'Nass stretched and felt the vonduun shell armor make a   
few final adjustments before form-fitting itself to his body. He   
smiled in satisfaction, the armor would turn blaster bolts at   
anything short of point-blank range, yet he could move about in it   
as easily as if it were his own skin. Hands encased in flexible   
gauntlets picked up the amphistaff that lay coiled around the back   
of his chair.  
  
  
The Prefect settled the serpent on his shoulders and let its   
ends coil around his arms. He had a couffee at his side and a   
bandolier with thud bugs, razorbugs, exploding bugs, packets of   
blorash jelly and numerous other Vong weapons slung across his   
chest. He needed only the helm and face mask on the armrest of   
his chair to complete the uniform. He appraised himself in a full-  
length mirror of smooth, brightly polished yorrik coral and nodded   
in appreciation of himself. He was an imposing figure indeed in   
the sculpted, silver-trimmed armor. Yes, the infidels would be   
suitably terrified at the sight of him.  
  
"You know what to do while I'm gone." He said   
offhandedly to one of his underlings, then had a second thought   
and decided to explain it again. "Monitor the skies for more   
incursions by the infidels and the villips for word from the   
Executor." He pointed to one of the villips on a nearby table.   
"Notify me of anything important."  
  
"Going somewhere, Prefect?" Ke'Nass whirled to face the   
speaker and felt the amphistaff tense in response to his surprise   
and anger. Instantly he banished all expression from his face and   
straightened to face the Vong who had come upon him unawares.  
  
"Nom Anor." He gave the youngling a thin smile and   
ground his teeth. The new arrival was attired in similar armor and   
stood at ease near the doorway, casually flexing one gauntlet-  
covered hand and watching the Prefect with steady, dark eyes.   
Ke'Nass struck a self-important pose and continued. "I go to join   
the warriors in the marshes. My search parties have herded the   
infidels into my trap, I will crush them all in one final strike." He   
raised a clenched fist and showed his fangs in a savage grin.  
  
"If...that is all Prefect?" The underling glanced at the two   
Vong eyeing daggers at one another and hurried past Nom Anor   
and out the door the second Ke'Nass waved for him to depart. The   
Executor's revolting spawn strolled forward, his calm face   
revealing nothing.  
  
"I am also preparing to depart in my search for the Jedi. I   
will require a few warriors to assist me, if you can spare them that   
is." Bold and secure in his position, with his marred face and new   
tattoos, he met Ke'Nass' without looking away once and addressed   
him as an equal: one adult Vong to another. He did not salute,   
bow, nor make any pretense of servile behavior, and the   
maddening thing was that Ke'Nass could not punish him for lack   
of respect: Nom Anor was here on a mission from the Executor   
himself, and so was not under the Ke'Nass' authority.  
  
  
"Of course." The Prefect walked the two coral steps up the   
raised dais where his chair stood and took his masked helm from   
the armrest. He felt his stomach twist in response to his bone-deep   
anger and, he refused to admit it even to himself, uncertainty:   
before today the Prefect had never really considered the Executor's   
son a threat, he had never thought about the young Vong at all   
except as an excuse to make some jibe against Sang Anor. Today,   
however, when Nom Anor had arrived on the seed world, Ke'Nass   
had been forced to take notice of him, and the older Yuuzhan   
Vong did not like what he saw.  
  
Nom Anor bore a close resemblance to his mother, even   
through the new scars, broken cheekbone and tattoos one could   
easily see that, but there was something about the way he held   
himself and the piercing quality of those dark eyes that called Sang   
Anor to mind. An interesting attribute, and a disturbing one.  
  
Disturbing because, for the fist time, Ke'Nass considered   
that the Executor's son might prove to be just as dangerous as his   
father. Perhaps more so.  
  
"Thank you. I am glad you seem to be making progress in   
exterminating the infidels that profane our seed world." Nom   
Anor glanced at the long, broad table that took up much of the   
Prefect's conference chambers. Made of living coral, the tabletop   
was sculpted in a map of the marshland area where the Imperials   
were located. With data provided by coralskipper flyovers and   
Yuuzhan Vong search parties as they had hunted the Nesz, the   
topograph was as accurate as any computer could make.  
  
Small sections of the dark coral shimmered with different   
colors representing the locations of Ke'Nass' hunting parties and   
the probable location of their Imperial quarry. A row of villips at   
the head of the living table, connected to the map via neural cords,   
kept the locations updated.  
  
As Nom Anor watched, some of the shimmering spots of   
color moved slightly in accordance to the search parties, each of   
which had a villip joined to one of the villips on the table. As   
things appeared, the Imperials would soon be driven into a   
peninsula. They would find themselves surrounded by water on   
three sides and nowhere to run. The Yuuzhan Vong lying in wait   
and the search parties that had harried them would all fall on the   
infidels at once, slaughtering them utterly.  
  
The Prefect narrowed his eyes. "You approve of the   
arrangement?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. Nom Anor looked   
up and raised a brow.  
  
"No, not really." The young Vong said politely, choosing   
to take the Prefect seriously. "The hunting parties are well   
positioned, but why so few warriors in each group? Your hunters   
have taken losses in every encounter with the stranded Imperials,   
despite whittling away a few of the infidels in the process."  
  
Ke'Nass clenched his fists, how dare this boy question him!   
He returned the polite smile, though, and answered in kind. "Ah,   
a very astute observation, but you lack experience, youngling,   
however much you excelled in war games and covert operations."   
He sat in his thronelike chair. He knew he looked especially   
imposing in the beautifully sculpted coral chair with its back   
spreading out above his head to double as a stand to lay his   
amphistaff on.  
  
He lay one hand on an armrest and held his helmet in the   
crook of his other arm. His amphistaff slithered down Ke'Nass'   
arm and rested its head on the Prefect's wrist. These subtle   
reminders of Ke'Nass' authority and experience should cow the   
young Vong.  
  
"It would do no good to simply overrun the infidels with   
superior numbers." He continued in a lightly patronizing tone. "I   
have given the warriors under my command the opportunity to   
show individual skill and ability, and to shake off the laziness and   
complacency that results from being posted in a seed world with   
only a slave species to quell." And to try and win a measure of   
personal glory out of this honorless fiasco. He added silently.   
And if the warriors take a few losses while hunting the infidels, it   
will only make them seem that more dangerous, and finally   
defeating them much more escalating for me.  
  
"Besides, the infidels are likely to scatter in the face of a   
direct and overwhelming attack. We would miss a few then, and it   
would take even more time and energy to track them down. My   
way is better, to herd them all into one spot, then exterminate them   
when there is nowhere to run to." He concluded triumphantly, then   
suppressed a scowl on seeing Nom Anor looked less than   
impressed.  
  
  
"One might argue that the death toll of our own warriors is   
excessively high for dealing with a few ill-supplied Imperial pilots   
stranded in unfamiliar terrain." Nom Anor returned. "One might   
question, in fact, how it was they were even allowed to land in the   
first place, when your coralskippers could have easily destroyed   
their fighters while they were in the sky." The crash sight for the   
fighters was depicted at the edge of the coral table, TIE fighter-  
shaped lumps of coral among broken trees.  
  
"The appearance of the Jedi's battleship and its explosion   
distracted the coralskippers." Ke'Nass retorted.  
  
"Yes, I've seen the battle reports stored in the villips." The   
younger Vong nodded. "What I am puzzled with are your   
decisions during the battle. The coralskippers simply scattered   
after the battleship's explosion and each pilot went after any target   
he could. They only needed someone to issue an order and they   
would have gotten back in formation, yet our defenders were left   
to their own devices. Why? Where was their leadership?" Nom   
Anor idly scratched his own amphistaff under the chin.  
  
Ke'Nass had shot out of the chair before the last word was   
out of Nom Anor's mouth. The Prefect's face was quivering and   
white with fury. The amphistaff reared back over his shoulder and   
hissed in response.  
  
"Silence!" He howled, then closed his jaw with an audible   
snap when he realized Nom Anor had finished and he had just   
broken silence by calling for it. For a second he could only choke   
on his knotted tongue and spear the boy with his bulging eyes.   
Where had leadership been during the final stage of the battle?   
Curled up in its chambers getting good and drunk, the tone   
implied. The fact that it was correct did nothing to ease the sting   
of the verbal slap in the face. The Prefect stood, terrible in his   
wrath, eyes flashing lightning from the dark, stormy face, while   
Nom Anor cocked his head and waited for the Prefect to express   
himself.  
  
"You-" he finally managed to choke out, "you, you..." He   
swallowed. "You think some fresh scars and a few tattoos still wet   
on your flesh make you a man? Give you the right to come here   
and question my orders? Perhaps you wish to take over the hunt   
for the infidels, now that I've boxed them up. Is that why Sang   
Anor sent you here? To steal my victory?"  
  
  
"I am here for the Jedi, Prefect, nothing more or less. The   
Executor," he emphasized the title, reminding Ke'Nass of the   
honorific he had not used, "sent me here for that reason alone, not   
to question your orders, or lack of them. I came into this chamber   
to ask for warriors to aid me. You were the one who asked if I   
approved of your plans."  
  
Ke'Nass had to take several deep breaths before he could   
move from his ridged position and be sure he wouldn't throw   
himself at the other Vong and throttle him with his gauntlet-  
covered hands. "You will have your warriors, Nom Anor." He sat   
back down, the amphistaff settling restlessly on his arm.  
  
"My thanks, Prefect. I go now to the priest, so that he   
might perform the rites for a safe and successful journey. They   
will meet me before the temple?"  
  
"Yes, yes, you are dismissed."  
  
Nom Anor bowed and backed away. "Thank you, and be   
sure that the Executor will receive a glowing report of your   
performance, Prefect." The orifice to the room closed behind him,   
leaving Ke'Nass to stew in his bile.  
  
He despised Sang Anor, and now he was learning to hate   
the man's son with equal fever. What he would never admit   
though, not even to himself, was that he was afraid of them as   
well.  
  
Ke'Nass had always been afraid of Sang Anor, ever since   
they were young feenir going through the weeding-out phase of   
a Vong's development. Ah, he had known even then that Sang   
Anor would not be one of those culled, and even then could not   
meet the other child's eyes. He could suppress and mask it, but the   
fear was always there, buried so deeply in the Prefect's psyche that   
it was the root of his hate and jealousy.  
  
A lot of it was the simple fact that Ke'Nass couldn't   
understand Sang Anor. Apart from his intellect and cunning, the   
Executor was different from other Yuuzhan Vong. The Vong   
were a hot-blooded, passionate race, but Sang Anor was cold,   
calm, always collected, always watching everyone with those   
bright eyes, weighing and measuring, cataloging weaknesses and   
filing them away for later use.  
  
  
He had taken only one wife when his rank entitled him to   
five at most, unheard of in a high-ranking Vong! And that wife   
had given him only one child in all their time together, yet he had   
never seemed angry or disappointed, as Ke'Nass certainly would   
have been.  
  
Once there had been a celebration held on the worldship   
after the Vong had defeated a group of infidel pirates that had   
stumbled across them. Ke'Nass and Sang Anor were simple   
warriors themselves at that point, and the Jedi Vergere was still a   
prisoner being studied by the Shapers and priests. It had been four   
years after the worldship's arrival in this galaxy and the battle over   
a strange world called Zonama Sekot, and the Yuuzhan Vong   
hadn't faced a true challenge since, they had been too preoccupied   
with slinking in the shadows and avoiding notice. Thus any battle   
won was a cause for celebration and many of the warriors were   
getting pleasantly drunk, Sang Anor and Ke'Nass among them.  
  
Ke'Nass had turned to Sang Anor and slurred a question   
that had been on his mind for some time: why only one wife?   
Wasn't he man enough for more?  
  
Sang Anor had fixed Ke'Nass (who had then been Kerin   
Nass) with a look that sobered him in a heartbeat and imprinted   
the moment on his brain. He had stared at Kerin Nass for a few   
seconds, considering his response before answering: "Not man   
enough? Lyrra is worth any other three females. I couldn't handle   
more." Then he had turned and walked away.  
  
Yes, Ke'Nass had to admit, Lyrra Anor was something else.   
But the Prefect couldn't conceive of having just one partner and   
being, as Sang Anor apparently was, completely happy. Nor would   
Ke'Nass have been overly concerned if one of his wives had been   
killed. Certainly he would swear vengeance and do whatever he   
could to find and destroy the killer, honor demanded it, besides, an   
attack on any part of his household would be an attack on his   
pride. But he certainly wouldn't be affected personally!  
  
Sang Anor on the other hand...it had been three years and   
he was still in mourning!  
  
  
Then there was this business with his son. Ke'Nass himself   
had fathered numerous offspring on his wives, and the infants had   
been given to them collectively to nurse and raise and to keep   
them from bothering Ke'Nass until they were toddlers, old enough   
to put into training with the other young Vong of their age-group,   
at which time they had been sent to the communal training areas of   
the worldship. Half a dozen of his children had survived into   
adulthood, Ke'Nass saw them occasionally and thought of them   
about as often.  
  
Sang Anor had assigned his own son as a personal aid as   
soon as Nom Anor had graduated the basic stages of his training,   
the boy was taken under the Executor's wing on entering young   
adulthood. It was incomprehensible. It was-  
  
a weakness.  
  
Ke'Nass sat bolt upright, then slowly stood and walked   
down the steps to the coral floor. His eyes had taken on a fierce   
intensity and his lips twitched upward in a small smile.  
  
Yes, a weakness, a flaw in the Executor's armor, a way for   
Ke'Nass to make his rival suffer as the Prefect himself had   
suffered at Sang Anor's hands. The countless humiliations, being   
robbed of glory and praise again and again. And now being   
consigned to this unimportant post during the greatest battle the   
Yuuzhan Vong had yet faced in this galaxy and a boy with the   
tattoos still fresh on his body sent to undermine his work, it was   
the final disgrace!  
  
Well, Executor, you have just proved too cunning for your   
own good! You have delivered into my hands a weapon to carve   
your very soul! Yes, he knew the man's weakness: the boy who so   
resembled his mother. The Prefect was not a very imaginative   
man, but at that moment he easily put himself in Sang Anor's   
place, seeing his beloved wife whenever he looked at his son's   
face, feeling joy as the boy grew strong before his eyes.  
  
And he could imagine a shadow of the sharp, bitter pain   
that would smite Sang Anor if his son, who was all he had left of   
Lyrra Anor, were to be taken away from him. You once told me   
you could destroy an enemy without bruising his skin or drawing   
so much as a drop of blood. I didn't understand then, but I do now.   
Oh yes, Executor, I do.  
  
He lifted the masked helmet to his face and eased it on. He   
felt the vonduun crab conform to the contours of his face and head,   
the lips on the mask matched his perpetual sneer exactly. He took   
the amphistaff into his hands and made it stiffen as the doorway   
irised open, allowing him to walk into the hallway beyond.  
  
  
Ceis Grasm, the female warrior who had acted as Ke'Nass'   
immediate subaltern since the failed Imperial attack was walking   
down the corridor to his chambers at that moment. She stopped   
and saluted when she saw the Prefect.  
  
"Master, your coralskipper is prepared. Shall we go?"  
  
Ke'Nass studied the warrior for a second, noting the   
restrained excitement in her gleaming eyes. Ceis Grasm had the   
passions of a young Vong, but she was also a seasoned fighter and,   
best of all, completely loyal to Ke'Nass. Perfect.  
  
"You will not be accompanying me when we crush the   
infidels," he said, "I have another mission for you. The Executor's   
son has recently arrived on the seed world, he is here to hunt down   
and kill the Jedi who may have been aboard the battleship that   
exploded itself. He has requested warriors to aid him. You will be   
one of those I send."  
  
Ceis Grasm stiffened visibly and her eyes widened behind   
her mask. Ke'Nass could read the thoughts behind those outraged   
eyes: she was not to take part in the slaughter of the trespassing   
infidels, an act that would bring much glory. Instead she would be   
hunting an escaped slave and, worst of all, she would be under   
the command of a boy barely out of the feenir stage! "Master,"   
she said uncertainly, "if I have offended you in some way-"  
  
"No, no," Ke'Nass silenced her with a wave of his gauntlet-  
covered hand. "I simply have a more important job for you,   
subaltern." He motioned for Ceis Grasm to take a step closer.   
"There is an important matter that must be attended to." He said in   
a low voice. "You see, hunting Jedi is a dangerous business,   
subaltern, and young Nom Anor is still somewhat lacking in   
experience."  
  
Under the mask, Ceis Grasm felt her lips tighten until they   
turned white. She was being assigned to baby-sit a feenir? "I   
will be at the youngling's side every step of the way." She assured   
him in clipped tones.  
  
Ke'Nass smiled. "Good, because under no circumstances is   
Nom Anor to survive."  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Vergere's welcome to the Nesz camp was not a warm one,   
but it was still a welcome. When she, Oin and their guides passed   
concealed sentries that made not a sound to give themselves away,   
yet were clearly sensed by both Oin and Vergere, and entered the   
camp proper the Nesz turned as one to the newcomers. There were   
no shouts of greeting or welcome, but dozens gathered around Oin,   
who walked slowly towards them.  
  
They closed ranks around the young Nesz and a low,   
mournful keening sound was loosed from every reptilian throat in   
a hum that made Vergere's feathers vibrate and penetrated her very   
bones. The Nesz reached out and gently touched Oin with their   
claws and snouts. They were packed closely together, but did not   
crowd each other or Oin.  
  
The Jedi drew back and pulled her cloak around her. The   
welcoming ritual was a touching experience, but Vergere was   
uncomfortable; she did not share the special sense of one-ness that   
united the Nesz. She felt set apart, which reminded her that she   
was as alien to this world as the Yuuzhan Vong were.  
  
After a moment the Nesz, by unspoken announcement,   
broke off the ritual and drifted back to their various chores, mostly   
gathering up food, tending to wounded Nesz and preparing spears   
and arrows. Oin waved Vergere forward and sat down near a   
small group of three Nesz.  
  
"I am Dra. Many here believe your return is a sign of better   
times." One said without preamble. "I pray they are right: the   
Nesz are sore in need of hope." The speaker was a young male,   
gaunt and scarred like most of the Nesz were now. He was   
missing an eye where a long scar crossed his face. He leaned   
forward and pitched his voice low. "Is there a reason to hope?" He   
asked softly. Vergere met his single dark eye with her violet ones   
and steeled herself. The Nesz deserved the truth.  
  
"Yes." Oin spoke up, startling the Jedi. "There is one hope   
left, a small one, and a hard road, but yes."  
  
Vergere turned wide eyes to the young Nesz, what was he   
talking about? Dra and the other Nesz closed his eyes and   
shuddered in relief. "Then it was not in vain." Vergere didn't need   
to ask what he meant. She had seen and felt it at the battle sites,   
the Yuuzhan Vong bodies.  
  
  
"No, it was not." Oin assured. "You had to fight back and   
survive long enough for us to return." Vergere remained silent and   
hid her puzzlement: had the strain broken his mind? Why give the   
Nesz false hope?  
  
"What has been going on since we left?" Vergere asked,   
glancing at the surroundings. The camp was clearly designed to be   
packed up at a moment's notice. Unlike the small villages the   
reptile-creatures had once used, this camp had nothing resembling   
a permanent structure, just bedrolls containing what few   
possessions the Nesz needed. The small parties of natives   
scattered throughout the swamps had quickly learned to travel   
lightly, and they had always lived off the land.  
  
"When Oin and I departed, the Yuuzhan Vong were leaving   
you free Nesz alone, mostly, unless they had an immediate need   
for slave labor. They were content with gradually reforming your   
planet into a seed world for their growing fleet. What has   
happened to change that?" She and Oin glanced at the three seated   
Nesz and at Dra, who seemed to be their leader, and suddenly   
realized something: there were no elders here.  
  
This was more than odd: the Nesz elders would naturally be   
here to greet them, as they would be the ones to make the   
important decisions. In fact Vlu, one of the chief elders, was a   
good friend of hers and would certainly be a part of any move the   
Nesz would make.  
  
"We do not know." Dra answered. "It began about a week   
after you left. Once there had been only a bare handful of   
Yuuzhan Vong actually on the planet, enough to oversee their   
creatures and slaves, now there are hundreds. They raided deep   
into areas not yet changed into coral fields. They had left places   
they were not immediately using alone before and only set traps   
near the territories they occupied, so we thought we were safe."   
Dra shook his head.  
  
"It was...beyond my power to describe. The invaders are   
now intent on crushing and enslaving the Nesz completely, down   
to the last hatchling. They will not tolerate even one free Nesz on   
this world. We do not know the reason for this."  
  
  
Vergere's stomach twisted. She knew why the Vong were   
so intent to subdue the Nesz when they had once been seen simply   
as animals to be used at need and otherwise left alone: she was that   
reason.  
  
Nom Anor had seen Oin with Vergere, so the Yuuzhan   
Vong knew the Nesz had been helping her, a Jedi, spy on them and   
ruin their plans. This was done to punish the Nesz for defying   
them, and to remove the natives' potential threat.  
  
"We had to fight back." Dra said defiantly, defending their   
actions. Violence was not even a crime among the Nesz: it was   
almost completely unknown. "We had to defend ourselves." Oin   
glanced at Dra's bow, arrows and spear, which the Nesz leader had   
unthinkingly laid near at hand. Yes, they were learning quickly.   
"But often it was not enough." He squeezed his single eye shut.  
  
"Dra," Oin said quietly, "where is Vlu? He more than any   
other should be here." For a moment Dra did not respond, then he   
slowly raised his head to meet Oin's eyes with a grieving gaze.  
  
"Vlu...joined the Eternals...a few days ago." He answered.   
One of the Nesz lay a clawed hand on Dra's forearm, he accepted   
it wordlessly. "He was weary, weakening, he had to be helped to   
walk and could not scale the trees with the rest of us, nor could he   
hunt." Dra swallowed. "He called me forward and told me I   
would lead in his stead. He said he was a risk to us and we would   
have a better chance evading the enemy patrols without him." Dra   
swallowed and forced himself to continue. "He left us and walked   
into the swamp."  
  
Vergere could say nothing, could think of nothing. Of   
course that was how Vlu would do it that way: no Nesz could bring   
himself to do harm to another. But it was still horrible in more   
ways than a stranger would understand. The Nesz would be aware   
of what Vlu experienced, all of them.  
  
"There has been less pressure lately." Dra went on,   
obviously changing the subject. "We were hoping you could   
provide an explanation." The Jedi nodded for him to continue. "It   
started the day you returned: we saw a battle in the sky, the   
invaders' ships fought against flyers that resembled the one Oin   
had seen just before you left."  
  
  
Vergere remembered: the Yuuzhan Vong had captured an   
Imperial TIE fighter and its Chiss pilot, it had been the Empire's   
presence so near this world that had prompted Sang Anor to try   
and have Thrawn assassinated in the first place. "Imperial craft."   
She said.  
  
"There were more Yuuzhan Vong than Imperials," Dra   
continued, "and they were forced to the ground. Then there was a   
great explosion in the sky."  
  
"That was us." Oin put in.  
  
"Since then the Imperials, those you call human and Chiss,   
have been wandering around swamps. The Yuuzhan Vong have   
been concentrating on them, and so have mostly left us alone. It   
has been a great relief."  
  
"Have you tried to make contact with the Imperials?"   
Vergere asked.  
  
"Almost from the second they landed." Dra nodded. "We   
tried to use some of the Basic phrases you taught us, but they shot   
at our scouts the moment they revealed themselves."  
  
"They probably thought you were Yuuzhan Vong   
creatures." The Jedi put in.  
  
"Possibly, but we didn't take another such chance. Since   
then our scouts have simply followed their progress, nothing   
more."  
  
"They are strong," one of the Nesz said, "and have powerful   
weapons. They have fought off the Yuuzhan Vong so far."  
  
"Not for much longer." Dra shook his head. "The Yuuzhan   
Vong are herding them into a trap. In just over an hour all the   
Imperials here will be slaughtered." He grimaced. "Then they will   
go back to hunting Nesz."  
  
"We need to help them." Vergere had been unaware that   
she was about to speak until the words were out of her mouth. She   
blinked and the four seated Nesz were all looking at her.  
  
"No," Dra shook his head, "we would run the risk of being   
caught in the Vong trap as well, I will not risk more Nesz lives   
than I must."  
  
  
"Your people know these swamps, Dra," Vergere pressed.   
She had spoken out of instinct alone, and as her Master had always   
told her, it meant she was hearing the will of the Force clearly.   
"You know them better than the Yuuzhan Vong ever could, that is   
the only reason you have been able to hide and resist them this   
long. If anyone can get help them with impunity, it is the Nesz."  
  
"They would be a great help against the Vong." Oin put in.   
"And helping them would put us in good terms with the Imperial   
forces when they arrive." Vergere glanced at him, but he did not   
meet her eyes.  
  
"They shot at us once," Dra narrowed his single eye, but   
Vergere could tell he was relenting, "what if they will not listen to   
us?"  
  
"I will make them listen." Vergere promised, but she was   
confused despite the confidence she put in her voice. Why would   
Oin back her up? He knew as well as she did that nothing would   
deter Thrawn from his goal: razing this world to the ground to   
cleanse it of the Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
"Very well." Dra said at last. "If you can convince the   
Imperials to accept our help, then the Nesz will guide them away   
from the ambush."  
  
*****************************************************  
Stent scowled and rapped the comm link with his knuckle,   
but he only got static.  
  
"I could have done that." Kelli said dryly. "I let you try and   
fix it because I thought you knew what you were doing."  
  
"It works sometimes." Stent said defensively. He glanced   
briefly at the human pilot. Mov Kelli had been the leader of one of   
the three parties of Imperials. That was, before circumstance had   
forced the three bands to combine once again.  
  
The Imperials were taking a brief rest from the steady   
marching, but were still alert with weapons at the ready in case   
anything should approach the defense perimeter. They were   
moving in the only direction open to them: due west. Stent didn't   
like it, and his unease grew with every step they took. He was sure   
the others felt the same way: one had to have almost extraordinary   
senses to be a pilot, after all, sense enough to know when you were   
walking into a sarlacc's maw at any rate.  
  
Stent glanced around. "One up side to all this," Kelli said,   
"the Yuuzhan Vong have managed to do what a thousand   
regulations and remonstrations couldn't: get humans and Chiss to   
word together without a complaint." Stent had to agree. The   
pilots, human and Chiss, were sitting or standing side-by-side,   
sometimes back-to-back as they treated wounds and spoke in low   
voices. The soldiers had been forced to depend on each other for   
so long and so completely that the practiced contempt for all other   
races had eroded away.  
  
"I'm glad you still have your sense of humor." Stent said as   
he leaned against one of the massive trees.  
  
"You have to have to do something, Stent. Now about that   
comm link-"  
  
"I would say it just needs retuning." Both Imperial spun,   
weapons drawn and pointed in the direction of the strange voice.   
There was no one there.  
  
"Uh!" Kelli grunted as something shoved him past Stent.   
The human fell face-first in the grass while Stent whirled back   
around to face the assailant: a small, slender figure in a hooded   
cloak. He swung his blaster toward the figure, but the weapon   
seemed to turn to ice in his hand. Before Stent's unbelieving eyes   
the blaster flew out of his grip.  
  
The next thing he knew there was a blade of violet light in   
the cloaked one's feathered hands. The Jedi flicked her wrist and   
the lightsaber blade was all but touching the side of Stent's neck.   
The Jedi bounded forward in a graceful leap, seized Stent's   
shoulder in a surprisingly strong grip and spun him around.  
  
By now the rest of the Imperials knew something was   
happening, and Vergere and her captive were the focus of sixty-  
some blasters. The Jedi exerted some pressure on Stent's shoulder,   
forcing the taller Chiss to bend his knees until his head was level   
with hers.  
  
"Tell them to lower their weapons." She told him, glad that   
Imperial-ingrained discipline had kept the pilots from simply   
opening fire. So was Stent, as she was using him as a shield and   
standing in front of the bora tree, there was no way the   
Imperials could shoot her in the back: the only way to get her   
would be to blast through Stent himself.  
  
"That's the Jedi who tried to kill the Grand Admiral!" One   
of the pilots exclaimed. The Imperial kept their weapons trained   
on them.  
  
"You've got the wrong version.? Vergere spoke to Stent,   
but somehow she was heard by all of them. "I saved Thrawn's   
life. Believe me, if I had been trying to kill him, he'd be dead.   
The same with you."  
  
"Why are you here then, Jedi, if not to fight us?" Stent   
gasped as he tried to edge away from the burning blade that was   
not-quite-scorching his flesh.  
  
"To help you. Now tell them to lower their weapons. All I   
want is a chance to talk and your word that I can leave in peace if   
you choose not to accept my help."  
  
"You are in no position to set conditions." Stent's eye's   
gleamed. "Even if you kill me, you can't fight all of us at once.   
Release me and hand over your weapon and I will listen to you."  
  
"I'll do no such thing." Vergere rolled her eyes, why was   
all this aggressive posturing necessary?  
  
"You're surrounded." Stent pointed out.  
  
"On the contrary," Vergere grinned, "you are." She raised   
her free hand over Stent's head. On that signal, an arrow seemed   
to sprout from one of the trees, disturbingly near a pilot's head.   
Another appeared in the ground, inches from Stent's feet. The   
Imperials scrambled, trying to take cover against snipers. A few   
kept their blasters trained on Stent and Vergere, the rest aimed at   
the surrounding trees and high grass.  
  
"I warn you," the Jedi said in another all-encompassing   
voice, "open fire and my allies will do likewise." She turned her   
violet eyes to the back of Stent's head. "Now, do we fight or talk?   
It's your choice."  
  
  
Stent clenched his teeth and for a moment his eyes flashed   
rebelliously, then his shoulders slumped. "Very well, Jedi. Lower   
your weapons!" He shouted. An instant later the heat beside his   
neck had disappeared and the hand released its grip on his   
shoulder. He straightened and spun around to confront the Jedi,   
but though he towered over her, she was clearly far from   
intimidated.  
  
"A wise choice." Vergere clipped the lightsaber handle to   
her belt and arranged herself in a sitting position. "Now, will you   
have a seat?"  
  



	8. Default Chapter Title

Dramatis Personae  
(major characters in Clash of Fates I @ II)  
  
Imperial forces-  
Thrawn; Grand Admiral (Chiss male)  
Voss Parck; captain (human male)  
Dagon Niriz; moff (human male)  
Fanis Veenir; commander (human male)  
Beyin; general (Chiss male) *  
Stent; pilot (Chiss male)  
Drash Tevock; pilot (human male)  
  
Yuuzhan Vong forces-  
Sang Anor; Executor (Yuuzhan Vong male)  
Ke'Nass; Prefect (Yuuzhan Vong male)  
Nom Anor; feenir (Yuuzhan Vong male)  
Ceis Grasm; subaltern (Yuuzhan Vong female)  
Hren Silra; covert operative (Yuuzhan Vong male)  
Kei Rascer; overseer (Yuuzhan Vong female)  
Krelt; priest (Yuuzhan Vong male)  
Wras; initiate (Chiss male)  
Coerl; warlord (Jrukto male)  
  
Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet-  
Vraet; Syndic (Chiss male) *  
Taesk; Syndic (Chiss male) *  
Raine; commander (Chiss female) *  
  
Jedi-  
Vergere (Fosh female)  
  
Nesz-  
Oin; hunter (Nesz male)  
Dra; lead hunter (Nesz male)  
Vlu; elder (Nesz male)  
  
* = has not appeared as of this chapter  
  
Chapter 8  
  
"This is it." Nom Anor paced around the bank, eyes fixed   
on the half-sunken escape pod that jutted from the stagnant pool.  
  
"How can you be so sure?" Ceis Grasm asked. Like Nom   
Anor and the other five Yuuzhan Vong, the subaltern was girded in   
vonduun shell armor and held a ridged amphistaff in one hand.   
"The machine ship had dozens of escape pods, and launched all of   
them into the atmosphere as it detonated."  
  
"I have seen the intelligence regarding the battle." Nom   
Anor answered easily. During the battle the Vong sensors, on the   
ground, in orbit disguised as meteorites and on the coralskippers   
themselves, had absorbed the events around them so the   
information could be stored in and sorted by villips for easy   
access.  
  
"This pod altered the vector of decent several times to land   
in this particular spot: a remote area outside our control. Also the   
pod itself is virtually undamaged." He prodded the ground with   
the tail of his amphistaff. "This is where the Jedi disembarked."  
  
"A fine analysis, but you overlook one thing," Ceis Grasm   
spoke in a voice that managed to be businesslike and patronizing at   
the same time, "the machine is upside-down with all its weight on   
the submerged hatch. How could they get out?" The female   
Vong's tone dripped with false respect, making Nom Anor bristle.   
Clearly she thought him no more that a half-trained boy, and   
certainly she resented being put under the younger Vong's   
command. The subaltern was no more than five years his senior,   
but she had been raised from the feenir stage at an earlier age.  
  
"She manipulated the Force," Nom Anor responded   
promptly, "to move the pod to its current position after she made   
her egress, probably to make this an unlikely-seeming landing spot   
and fool search teams." like this one hanging unspoken. "You   
are dealing with a Jedi, subaltern, and I feel you lack experience   
in their ways." Nom Anor showed none of the satisfaction he felt   
on seeing Ceis Grasm's eyes flash with anger before she could   
hood them.  
  
Not that it would've mattered if he had evidenced   
satisfaction: nothing of their expressions could be seen behind the   
masked helms.  
  
Truthfully, any annoyance with the warriors was minor   
indeed compared to the thrill of at last closing in on the Jedi. He   
flexed his hand and unsheathed the sharp claws in his gauntlet's   
fingertips, imagining tearing into Vergere?s feathery hide. "Now   
we must hurry, she has enough of a head-start as it is." He reached   
into a pocket in his bandolier and withdrew a single, soft feather.   
It and others like it had been preserved by Sang Anor for the past   
three years for just such an occasion.  
  
He then raised his forearm to regard the trasedak attached   
to it, the hooks on its short legs locked into his armor's minuscule   
ridges. Nom Anor gently stroked the segmented body until the   
trasedak extended two long, sensitive antennae and began waving   
them about, probing the environment.  
  
Nom Anor waved the feather slowly in front of the sensors   
until the antennae stopped the directionless motions and instead   
pointed directly at the piece of Vergere's plumage. The Vong   
tucked it back into his bandolier and pointed his arm at the ground.   
The trasedak had resumed its probing once the feather had been   
taken away, but as Nom Anor paced along the bank the antennae   
suddenly went ridged again, pointing at a spot at the edge of the   
bank. A tight smile twisted the face beneath the mask as he slowly   
turned, the antennae never losing their lock on the specific   
chemical traces that matched the feather. Trasedaks were   
incredible trackers in their natural state, and Yuuzhan Vong   
Shapers had enhanced those traits in them to an astonishing   
degree. Larger breeds of trasedaks were even used in warships to   
pick out and track a specific machine-ship's ion trail.  
  
And of course they all turned neuter once they reached   
maturity, so that not even the scent of another trasedak during   
mating season could distract them from their quarry.  
  
"The Jedi went deeper into the swamp," Nom Anor said,   
"probably to meet with native help."  
  
"She will be disappointed." one warrior asserted. "We have   
been hunting them for weeks, there can't be that many who aren't   
slaves or dead."  
  
"We shall see. But be on your guard, the Jedi might have   
help."  
  
  
"I will report our progress to the Prefect." Ceis Grasm   
turned to a small villip mounted on her shoulder.  
  
"Yes." Nom Anor spared the dutiful subaltern a glance,   
and wondered when she would try and kill him.  
  
Of course knew the Ceis Grasm's true purpose, had known   
it the instant Ke'Nass had presented her: the Prefect was a fool,   
and never more transparent than when he tried to be clever. The   
only question was when and in what method the assassination   
would come. He would have to watch and be ready.  
  
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, calmly   
assessing the threat she posed to him. The subaltern was shorter   
than him by half a head and not nearly as broad of shoulder. In   
terms of simple, brute strength he guessed he would have the   
advantage. He didn't let himself become overconfident, though:   
years of study under Sang Anor had taught the young Vong to look   
beyond appearances. Ke'Nass wasn't a complete idiot, he wouldn't   
have chosen her if he wasn't sure she was up to the task, and while   
it was true that fewer females than males succeeded as warriors,   
the females that did were usually twice as good as the males.  
  
A thought crossed his mind: had Sang Anor known he   
would be put in this position? Yes, now that Nom Anor thought   
about it, he believed so. Sang Anor was clever, and he knew   
Ke'Nass well, was more than capable of predicting what the   
Prefect's reaction to Nom Anor would be.  
  
It didn't matter. This was just one more trial to overcome,   
he would succeed and be escalated in the eyes of the gods, or he   
would fail and die. It was the way of the Yuuzhan Vong. He   
didn't fault his father for putting him in this position, it was to be   
expected: the ways of the Yuuzhan Vong did not make for a gentle   
people. They did not coddle their young, one had to prove oneself   
worthy to grow and prosper.  
  
This was why the Yuuzhan Vong were so much greater   
than the other races of the universe, and only the strong would   
have a place in the society the Vong would make in this galaxy.  
  
"This way." They started into the marshes.  
  
*************************************************  
  
"No!" Was Stent's instant and furious response. "Out of   
the question!"  
  
"You don't have any other option." Vergere pressed.   
"Parties of Yuuzhan Vong are flanking you on every side. They're   
holding position only because they expect you to walk into their   
ambush, but it's only a matter of time before they get suspicious   
and attack. The only way through their net is to follow Dra's plan:   
divide yourselves into small groups, say about five each, and let   
the Nesz guide you out of this trap."  
  
"If we do that the Vong would be able to pick us off one by   
one." Stent snapped. "Besides, we only have a handful of com   
links so the parties wont be able to communicate. We stay   
together." The Chiss said with cold finality.  
  
It was all Vergere could do not to roll her eyes. It was as   
bad as she'd thought it would be. The arrogant humans and   
aristocratic Chiss were determined to be the ones giving the orders,   
convinced of their innate superiority. Stent wanted the Imperials   
to attack the Yuuzhan Vong flanking them, or better yet engage the   
ambushers ahead, which would only get them all killed. His   
obvious disdain for the 'savages,' both Yuuzhan Vong and Nesz,   
was starting to grate on her. Perhaps Dra was right, she should   
leave these people to their own devices, at least they would keep   
the Yuuzhan Vong busy.  
  
But no, she reconsidered, glancing at the Imperials on   
guard around them. Stent had stationed about half of them in a   
rough circle inside of which the others sat, crouched or leaned   
against bora trees, but even the ones at rest were alert and kept   
their weapons ready. Whatever else they were, they were also   
trained soldiers, which was something she and the Nesz needed.   
The Imperials needed the Nesz and their familiarity with this   
world more, though, the trouble was in making the offworlders   
admit it.  
  
Besides, as a Jedi she was bound to do her best to defend   
their lives as well. They might serve the Empire, but they were   
also frightened and far from home. She could empathize with   
many of them. Except for one human in particular: an ordinary-  
looking pilot standing near one of the bora trees. He was the only   
pilot who seemed totally unconcerned with finding a Nesz arrow   
suddenly sprouting from some part of his body. Of course he   
wasn't worried, he would sense any attack by the Nesz through the   
Force before it could happen.  
  
Sensing a Force-strong individual among the Imperials had   
been a surprise for Vergere, and the taint of the dark side she felt   
emanating from him had been like an electric shock to the Jedi.  
  
There was no question about it when she looked at the   
world through the Force, not at the physical universe but at the   
boundless ocean of life-energy around them. The energy flowed   
around them all, connecting her, the Nesz and the Imperials   
together. Waves and eddies of life-force seemed to swirl around   
them, the different emotions giving each wave a new 'flavor.'   
Living beings like herself, Oin and Stent appeared as bright,   
starlike focal points of energy shining with life, giving off emotion   
and power into the Force. The young man by the tree was like an   
oozing sore, spilling out darkness like a leak in a canister of toxic   
waste.  
  
But the most amazing thing of all was that, unbelievable as   
it might seem, the young man had no idea he was using the Force   
at all!  
  
But never mind that. She would turn her attention to this   
unexpected development after she had dealt with the more   
immediate problems, so she promised herself as she turned her   
attention to the rest of the Imperial pilots.  
  
The few divisions that had existed between the human and   
Chiss pilots seemed to have evaporated on their trek through the   
marshes. Humans and Chiss sat together, spoke quietly to one   
another, checked each other's wounds and helped repair and clean   
each other's weapons. Many even sat back-to-back in case of   
trouble. The Yuuzhan Vong had done what dozens of Imperial   
regulations couldn't: made these two insufferably arrogant races   
get along.  
  
The problem was, even if the Imperial humans and Chiss   
had come to respect each other, they were still disdainful of the   
Nesz, and unaware of how ridiculous the superior demeanor they   
put forward looked.  
  
  
The Imperial pilots were a pathetic sight, grimy and   
sweating from the humidity and heat that was so comfortable to   
the cold-blooded Nesz but not nearly as friendly to mammalian life   
forms like humans and Chiss. Many were covered with insect   
bites that itched horribly and scratches from spiny plants that   
ripped through the cloth under their discarded flight suits. More   
than a few were sopping wet from falling into the bogs and barely   
getting fished out in time, losing or ruining most of their supplies   
in the process.  
  
The Chiss were too proud to scratch their bug bites in   
public, but the Jedi could feel their discomfort. The pilots didn't   
have much in the way medical supplies, only the survival kits that   
were packed in the fighters, and they were running short.   
Doubtless they were now very grateful for the immunizations   
They'd received in the fleet that kept the worst of any unfamiliar   
pathogens from them.  
  
But they were still weary and worn out. They were well-  
trained, but they were pilots, not infantry, and this terrain was   
wearing them down.  
  
Dra and Oin sat on either side of her, facing Stent and a   
human pilot, the only two Imperial officers to have survived up till   
now. The Nesz were impressed by the weaponry and discipline of   
the Imperials, but weren?t in awe of them. This aggravated Stent,   
who seemed to think the small reptilians should grovel at the sight   
of the Imperials.  
  
"We are running out of time," Vergere repeated, "you must   
divide up and follow the Nesz, they will guide you out of this net.   
We can all meet up again deeper in the marshes and plan our next   
move, but we must act now!"  
  
"And put my men in your trust, Jedi?" Stent replied tersely.   
He spoke to her, not the Nesz. Indeed, he talked about the natives   
as if they weren't even there. "We would be completely in your   
power, those reptiles could kill us all easily if we split up."  
  
Vergere narrowed her eyes. "The Nesz have had bad   
experienced with offworlders, Stent. They would feel safer if they   
had the upper hand."  
  
"I've little reason to trust you." The Chiss snapped.   
"Maybe this is all just a trick to divide us, so your pets can kill us   
off and take our weapons and equipment." Stent turned his   
glowing gaze on the two Nesz, appraising them as though they   
were pieces of furniture. "Besides, what if these animals decide to   
turn on us without you to keep them under control?" Dra stirred   
angrily and Oin fisted his claws.  
  
  
"You are mistaken." Vergere replied in a level voice, but   
with a sharp edge to it. "The Nesz are not mine to command. Dra   
here is the leader of his people, and he has given me permission to   
speak to you on his behalf because of my knowledge of   
offworlders and skill with Basic, but the final decision to even   
provide you aid will be his."  
  
Stent's eyebrows raised in surprise and outrage. "This is   
idiocy!" He spat. "We are to trust in these inferior savages?   
Never!"  
  
The Jedi's reaction was instantaneous and unexpected.   
Vergere's hand snapped out faster than Stent's eyes could follow.   
She seized the dirty collar of the pilot's torn jumper and pulled him   
forward until their noses were all but touching.  
  
"You will not take that tone again." Her violet eyes flashed   
dangerously. The other Imperials reached for their weapons, but   
something in the Jedi's tone seemed to turn their hands to blocks of   
ice even as her voice held their attention. "The Nesz have faced   
more than you could imagine, more than they had the experience   
to deal with and much more than any of them deserved."  
  
"Understand this: I didn't have to come to you, and I don't   
have to help you. Many of the Nesz believe you would be more   
trouble than help and should simply be left to keep the Yuuzhan   
Vong occupied. I am beginning to think they're right." She   
released the Chiss with a backward shove. Stent's mouth twitched   
as if he would bit out a reply, but he said nothing and did not meet   
her eyes.  
  
Vergere stood in a single, fluid movement and looked   
down on the sitting Chiss. It was not a terribly great height, for she   
was a short being, but to Stent it seemed she towered over him.   
Oin and Dra stood with her, and the one-eyed Nesz spoke in fairly   
understandable Basic.  
  
  
"The Jedi has spoken for my people and I will leave you to   
decide if you will accept our help on our terms, but consider this:   
in the air and the blackness beyond you are formidable, but here   
and now a handful of Nesz hunters could defeat you. You have   
survived this long because the Yuuzhan Vong have allowed you to.   
My people are one with the land and these invaders have hunted   
us almost to the last. You stomp through the marshes like dying   
mud-crawlers and leave tracks a blind Nesz could follow." One of   
the Imperial opened his mouth for an angry retort, but Stent   
silenced him with a glance.  
  
"I ask you this: how long do you think you will last without   
our aid when the Vong learn their plan has failed and begin   
hunting you in earnest?" Dra turned and began walking away from   
the Imperials, with Oin and Vergere following in his wake.  
  
"Wait," Stent called after them and the Jedi and Nesz   
turned back, "I don't think we need to consider it." The Chiss   
managed to not sound condescending. "I don't like this, but the   
only option we have left is to accept your terms." He glanced at   
the others. "Are we in agreement?" A human commander   
grumbled an assent while the other two Chiss snapped brief nods.   
"It's settled. We'll follow your plan, but you remember this," and   
now Stent's voice took on a dangerous edge at odds with his   
bedraggled appearance but no less menacing, "if you betray us,   
Admiral Thrawn will find out about it somehow, and he will   
make you pay for it."  
  
Vergere met the glowing eyes without flinching, and Dra   
answered. "Have no fear, the Nesz will keep faith with you if you   
do the same. Now we must hurry, before the Yuuzhan Vong   
realize you are not going to walk into their jaws on your own."  
  
*********************************************  
Situated behind a towering bora tree, Prefect Ke'Nass held   
a ready razorbug in one hand, his stiffened amphistaff in the other,   
and watched through the eyeholes of his mask for the first of the   
Imperials to step through the dense foliage.  
  
He could see it all: the first dozen or so Imperials would   
burst through and find nothing ahead but a vast and stagnant lake,   
the horror on the man's face as he turned back-but where would he   
go? Ke'Nass had already ordered the Yuuzhan Vong parties   
flanking them to move in and drive the Imperials into the trap, so   
there would be nowhere to run to.  
  
Then Ke'Nass and the other ambushers would throw their   
razorbugs and attack with whirling amphistaffs.  
  
  
Humans and Chiss would push forward even as the infidels   
ahead of them turned and tried to run from Ke'Nass and the others.   
They would be caught between two groups of Yuuzhan Vong,   
outnumbered and outmatched. It wouldn't be a victory for the   
Vong, but a holy slaughter. Ke'Nass' face twisted in a bloodthirsty   
grin as he imagined the terror in the infidels' eyes when he drove   
the tail of his amphistaff into the first one's gut.  
  
His bloody fantasies were rudely interrupted when the   
villip perched on his shoulder morphed the features of Jentor Ghre,   
a leader of a Vong party that should be flanking the Imperials and   
herding them into Ke'Nass trap.  
  
"Prefect," the villip said, "Prefect, I have information-"  
  
"Yes, yes, what is it?" Ke'Nass said distractedly, was that   
something moving through the foliage?  
  
"The infidels, Prefect they are-"  
  
"Be silent! They may hear you!" Ke'Nass hissed. Yes!   
Someone was there, almost within throwing range! His fingers   
itched on the razorbug.  
  
"That is just it, Prefect the infidels are-" Now! The first of   
the Imperials was in range!  
  
"Do-ro'ik vong pratte!" Ke'Nass roared and jumped out   
from behind the tree, throwing the razorbug with all his might. His   
target moved, surprisingly quick, but not fast enough. The   
razorbug decapitated him clean and Ke'Nass and the others rose up   
and charged the beings behind the fallen form, a fountain of blood   
spurting from its neck.  
  
The blood-fever was so hot on the Prefect that it was not   
until his next victim blocked his amphistaff with one of his own   
that he realized it was a Yuuzhan Vong hunting party he had   
attacked.  
  
"What is this?" He choked and shoved the Yuuzhan Vong   
backwards into his fellows. He heard a warning buzz and caught   
his razorbug as it returned to him and let it fasten itself on his   
bandolier. "How did you get ahead of the infidels? You will ruin   
the trap!" He howled at the shocked warrior before him. The   
Vong behind him, halted in their charge, looked at each other in   
confusion.  
  
  
"That is what I am trying to tell you!" Jentor Ghre's villip   
shouted in his ear. "The infidels are not here! They have eluded   
us!" Ke'Nass twisted his head to face the villip.  
  
"Impossible! You assured me you had them flanked at   
every side!"  
  
"They must have-"  
  
"Fool!" He roared and lashed the ground with his   
amphistaff until even his fellow Vong backed away from him. He   
stumbled, nearly tripped over something and looked down. The   
head of the Yuuzhan Vong he killed was at his feet, the sightless   
eyes seemed to mock him.  
  
He howled and kicked the head as hard as he could, it flew   
over the lake and landed with a plop near the center. How   
could this happen? He was made a fool of, his glory stolen-  
  
Then he knew, with a pang of sharp clarity, who was   
responsible.  
  
Sang Anor.  
  
Somehow, the Executor had managed to do it to him again,   
to frustrate his plans and steal his victory. Well he wouldn't   
succeed, not this time. Ke'Nass would cleanse this planet of every   
last infidel in spite of the plots of others and the incompetence of   
his troops.  
  
"Start backtrailing them! I want every Yuuzhan Vong out   
here searching, now! The infidels can't have gotten far!" He gave   
the headless body an enraged kick to the side and pushed past the   
Vong party that had walked into the trap. "I want them found by   
the end of the day!"  
  
"And if we cannot?" Jentor Ghre dared to ask.  
  
"Then we take to the coralskippers and start bombing this   
planet until every last tree is burned to the ground." And if Nom   
Anor was caught and killed in those bombings, well then so much   
the better.  
  
******************************************  
  
Oin was lying to her. Vergere didn?t know what about,   
exactly, but she sensed the conflicting emotions swirling around   
him through the Force.  
  
She hurried through the grass, thankful for the shielding   
cover of the bora trees. She moved as silently as a brown-robed   
ghost, and winced at every noise made by the Imperial pilots, who   
were clumsy at best in this terrain.  
  
They're not that noisy, she told herself, it's just that I'm   
hearing things so much clearer at the moment. Since she could   
not sense the Yuuzhan Vong through the Force, she had done the   
next best thing: she was using the Force to enhance her own   
senses. She could hear the tiniest of insects buzzing and   
distinguish each flap of their transparent wings, see the tiny veins   
and antennae.  
  
Other than that, she had to rely on their Nesz guides. She'd   
had no reservations about that until she had sensed Oin's deceit.   
He and Dra were lying to her about something, and she couldn't   
confront them about it in front of the Imperials and risk losing   
their already shaky trust.  
  
Not now, anyway, not while they were still too near the   
Yuuzhan Vong patrols. Once they had reached the relative safety   
of the deep marshes she would get Oin aside and speak to him.   
She sensed no malice or intent to harm from them, just the deceit   
itself.  
  
There were only two Imperials with her, Oin and Dra.   
Vergere supposed she was lucky, in a way, as they were the two   
Imperials she was most interested in: Stent, the leader of the few   
ragged humans and Chiss on this planet, and the young Force-user   
whose name, she had learned, was Drash Tevock.  
  
She had not been surprised when Stent had chosen to   
accompany her, he as much as told her he would kill her himself if   
there was any treachery. Drash was another matter. He had   
specifically requested to accompany Stent, but his attention had   
been (and still was) bent entirely in her direction. Vergere had no   
idea why he had taken an interest in her, perhaps he sensed in her   
the same sort of power he himself carried, all unknowing. They   
say like calls to like, and the Jedi had often found more than a   
germ of truth in the old saying.  
  
  
They had put some distance between themselves and the   
Vong ambush site when Vergere realized Dra and Oin were   
guiding them in the wrong direction. The place they had chosen to   
rendezvous with the rest of the parties was to the north, they were   
veering due south. Stent and Drash, being unfamiliar with the   
planet, wouldn't pick up on that, but the Jedi was experienced in   
the local geography. She would get Oin alone and talk to him as   
soon as Dra called a rest.  
  
The Nesz leader hopped down from a bora tree a few   
minutes later. That was the procedure they'd agreed on: two Nesz   
to each party, one to stay with the party and guide them, the other   
to range ahead, often staying in the trees for a better view.  
  
"We can stop and rest for a few minutes." He said to them   
in fairly good Basic. "There are no Yuuzhan Vong nearby and   
scouts are on the lookout."  
  
Stent sat on the waist-high root of a bora tree and stretched   
his legs. He drank some water from his canteen and fished around   
for a ration bar. Dra watched the processed food curiously until   
Oin, who had more experience with aliens and their odd ways,   
explained what a ration bar was. Dra shook his head in confused   
disgust: why put offal like that in your body when the marshes   
were full of fish and tasty grubs were under the bark of the trees?  
  
Vergere found herself chuckling, much to her surprise. She   
walked toward the two Nesz. Now was as good a time as any to   
clear things up.  
  
"Jedi." Vergere spun, mud stained robes swirling around   
her, to face Drash Tevock. The pilot must have approached her   
while her attention had been focused on the others. I must be   
slipping she thought. Drash was watching her with apparent   
calm, but there was a frightening intensity behind his dark eyes.  
  
"Yes, Lt. Tevock?" She recovered quickly from her   
surprise and folded her arms.  
  
"I want to talk to you about the Yuuzhan Vong," he said   
abruptly, "I want to know something about them, and you seem to   
know all there is."  
  
  
"Um, no, not everything," she said, quickly covering her   
surprise and assuming the air of unflappable calm that Jedi had   
been famous (and infamous) for, "the more technical aspects of   
how their creatures are made, for example, and the deepest   
mysteries of their religion are available only to initiates-"  
  
"I'm not interested in that." Drash interrupted, and there   
was no mistaking the eager tone. "I want to know more about their   
fighters, the corralskippers."  
  
Vergere blinked, the direction of the conversation was   
taking her by surprise. Silently, she chastised herself, he was a   
pilot after all: what else would he want to talk about? "What do   
you want to know?"  
  
"When we were first put through the new training sims the   
officer in charge said that coralskippers were living things, and   
that the pilots bonded to their fighters, effectively making the two   
of them one organism. Is that true?" Vergere nodded. "Now tell   
me," Drash licked his lips, "does it only work with Yuuzhan Vong,   
or will a skip respond to, say, a human?"  
  
"Yuuzhan Vong and humans are structurally similar,"   
Vergere answered slowly, "and the coralskippers are highly   
adaptive creatures, so I would say yes. Now-"  
  
"Thank you." Drash said absently. "That's all I wanted to   
know." There was a strange, distant expression on his face, and   
Vergere sensed the mind behind those faraway eyes working   
furiously. He probably wasn't even aware he'd interrupted her, so   
caught up was he in the awesome idea he had.  
  
As he turned and moved away, looking everywhere and   
seeing nothing, Vergere took the opportunity to study him more   
closely. She was amazed at how incredibly strong in the Force he   
was. Had he been born before the Purges the Jedi Order would   
have sensed him immediately and taken him into training as an   
infant, if for no other reason than his own protection and that of   
everyone around him: it was dangerous when a strong gift in the   
Force went untrained.  
  
It was a wonder that the Emperor or Darth Vader didn't   
know about him. He made no attempt to shield the dark energy   
that surrounded him like a stormcloud, he didn't even know there   
was anything to shield. That was the most likely reason why   
everyone who got near him instinctively disliked, even feared, the   
young man: even normal beings would sense something of his   
taint.  
  
  
Only Vergere was equipped to see the full truth: that he   
was an active thermal detonator that could go off at any time.   
Drash Tevock was a danger to himself and everyone around him,   
and now it seemed Vergere was stuck with him, yet another   
responsibility she didn't ask for and, frankly, didn't feel equal to.   
Not that the universe would adjust itself to be fair to her, she knew   
that from experience by now.  
  
Oin was kneeling beside a pond, dipping his snout in for a   
drink, his back was to Stent, who was still resting. Vergere knelt   
beside Oin, cupped her hands under the surface and spoke softly   
while she mimed bringing water to her mouth.  
  
"Where are you and Dra leading us?"  
  
Oin's tail stiffened slightly, but otherwise he remained a   
picture of serenity. Vergere didn't even sense real surprise in him   
through the Force: obviously he didn't believe for one instant that   
he had fooled her.  
  
"We will reach the rendezvous point on time." He said   
when his snout cleared the pool. He stayed down and kept his   
nose close to the water, so as not to alert Stent that something was   
up.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" She hissed. "Stent   
doesn't trust us. If he suspects he's being betrayed-"  
  
"He wont," Oin assured, "he knows nothing of the marshes,   
he might as well be blind. What will it matter which route we   
take?" He turned his head up and implored her with his eyes.   
"This is important, there is something we must show you."   
Vergere began to protest, but somehow the words died in her   
throat. She felt Thracia's familiar, feather-light touch in the back   
of her mind and knew, somehow, that whatever Oin was taking her   
to was part of the path her Master had shown her.  
  
"You should have told me." Was all she said as she got to   
her feet.  
  
"You would have asked questions." Oin replied.   
"Questions I cannot yet answer." Vergere wanted to ask where   
they were going, but knew somehow that this wasn't the time for   
answers. Instead, she motioned for Oin to walk beside her and   
quickly changed the topic.  
  
"I need you to understand something," she said quietly,   
"and for Dra to understand it. Does Dra know what..." she   
swallowed "...what Nom Anor told you?"  
  
"No," Oin shook his head, "he believes there is still hope   
for the Nesz, that you bring help to drive off the Vong." The   
Imperials would destroy the Yuuzhan Vong on this planet,   
certainly, and the Nesz along with them.  
  
"There might be hope yet," Vergere confided, "for some of   
the Nesz at least. When I learned about the TIE pilots stranded   
here I saw an opportunity for you. The Imperials will eventually   
attack this planet, but if Thrawn knew some of his people were   
stranded here he would undoubtedly try and rescue them. By   
helping these pilots survive and fight the Vong garrisoned here, the   
Nesz may be able to convince Thrawn to rescue them as well."  
  
"Rescue?" Oin asked.  
  
"He may be persuaded to transport as many Nesz as   
possible off the planet before the Imperials raze it and eventually   
settle you on another world. He might even find one similar to   
this. If Stent and the other Imperials put in a good word for us,   
that is."  
  
"That is why I was so eager for this alliance between these   
Imperials and the Nesz." She continued. "If we can somehow   
contact Thrawn's fleet when it arrives, if he agrees to give the Nesz   
sanctuary, and if there is time to gather and transport as many of   
your people as possible off the planet." a lot of ifs, there, she   
thought. "That is why we must help Stent." She finished.  
  
Unbidden, the dream-vision she'd had while seeking out   
Thrawn rose up before her: the planet laid to waste and Oin alone   
of all the Nesz left alive. She shoved the vision aside and   
concentrated on one of Master Yoda's sayings instead: Always in   
motion is the future. There had to be a way to help the Nesz and   
stop Sang Anor at the same time. There had to be!  
  
  
Oin listened, but let none of his dismay show. The Jedi's   
heart was in the right place, but her plan wouldn't work. It wasn't   
enough for them to have a new home: the Nesz wouldn't be the   
beings they were now if they left their planet. Besides, the   
Eternals would still perish either way, whether the life-energy of   
this world was slowly choked out by Yuuzhan Vong creatures or   
obliterated by a fleet of Star Destroyers. Oin and the others   
weren't about to let that happen to the beings who had been   
parents, guides and protectors to the Nesz since there were   
Nesz.  
  
***************************************  
"There!" The warrior had no sooner exclaimed than hurled   
his razorbug at the top of a bora tree. The other warriors were   
instantly on alert, amphistaffs raised in guard positions.  
  
"What is it?" Nom Anor snapped as he tracked the path of   
the razorbug with his eyes. The trasedak's antennae were vibrating   
with an intensity that made them blurry to the eye, a sure sign that   
the quarry was close.  
  
"I saw something," the razorbug spun back into his   
gauntlet-covered hand, "there." The talon-tipped finger pointed to   
the treetop.  
  
"The Jedi?" Nom Anor asked quickly.  
  
"Looked like one of the slaves." The warrior answered.   
"But you said they are helping the Jedi."  
  
"Did you kill it?" Nom Anor asked quickly.  
  
"No."  
  
"Damn!" Nom Anor made the trasedak retract its antennae.   
"Hurry! It will warn the Jedi!" He bolted through high grass, the   
other Vong following on his heels.  
  
***************************************  
"You two certainly are talkative." Stent's stern but cultured   
tone made them both turn in his direction. "Is anything wrong?"  
  
"No," Vergere said smoothly, "I was just telling Oin some   
of my adventures back in the days of the Old Republic." She   
smiled. "I'd be glad to trade anecdotes with you, Commander, if   
you're interested."  
  
"No, I don't think so." Was Stent's curt reply, his glowing   
eyes moving from Jedi to Nesz.  
  
  
"Well, perhaps later then-" Vergere was stopped in mid-  
sentence by a sound from the trees, a second later a Nesz scout   
dropped to the ground and turned to Dra.  
  
"Yuuzhan Vong are coming! Seven of them!" He hissed in   
the Nesz language.  
  
"The Vong!" Vergere said in Basic for the benefit of Stent   
and Drash. "Go!" She motioned for Dra and Oin to lead the way.   
"Follow them!" She said to the pilots.  
  
"What about you?" Oin asked urgently.  
  
"I'll follow," she said, "but if the Vong catch up," she hefted   
her lightsaber, I'll be the first one they meet."  
  
They ran through the grass with Dra and the scout leading   
and the Imperials a few steps behind. Vergere followed a few   
paces behind, her heightened senses directed at the area behind   
them.  
  
She heard the sounds of fast but stealthy beings moving   
through the grass, then a low buzzing in the humid air. Vergere   
whirled, lightsaber burning to violet life, and bisected the   
razorbug. Seven black-armored Yuuzhan Vong were bounding   
forward, they were almost on top of them.  
  
Vergere narrowed her eyes. Seven of them, not good odds,   
but she had to buy time for the others. She held her lightsaber in a   
guard position, braced herself, and charged them.  
  
She met the first Vong with a whirling slash of violet fire.   
He blocked her blade with the tail-end of his amphistaff, but not   
the spinning kick she delivered to the side of his head, knocking   
him to the ground. She didn't pause, but continued her rush into   
the rest of the Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
A Vong tried to spear her and the Jedi leapt over him, using   
her own race's natural agility and amplifying it through the Force.   
Spinning in midair, she kicked him hard in the back before   
landing, then ducked to avoid another swinging amphistaff. She   
stabbed upward with her lightsaber, aiming for the joints in the   
armor that she knew by long experience were the only weaknesses   
in the living encasements.  
  
  
The lightsaber's blade slid along the armored forearm to   
the right elbow, where it penetrated. She twisted her wrist and   
kicked the warrior in the abdomen at the same time, the impact   
shoved him backward and severed his right arm from the elbow   
down at the same time. The arm dropped to the ground, the   
distressed amphistaff still in the clasped hand.  
  
Embracing the pain, the warrior didn't acknowledge the   
cauterized stump but rather pulled his coufee from his belt and   
attacked. Vergere jumped and swung her lightsaber again, and the   
warrior was just a little too slow to dodge. The blade struck where   
the Vong's masked helm met neck and neatly decapitated him.  
  
One down, Vergere jumped over the headless body,   
dodging the amphistaff that lashed angrily in the nearby severed   
arm's hand, six to go. Even now the first one she had knocked   
down had bounded to his feet.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong had moved to surround her, and as one   
they charged. The air sang with the whirl of amphistaffs and   
burned with the lightsaber's fire. Vergere executed move after   
move, flowing with eye-blinding speed, but there were just too   
many of them. She struck aside an amphistaff with such force that   
sparks flew from the impact and the serpent was cut in half, then   
ducked and rolled to avoid attacks from behind and either side.  
  
Blade-sharp snake tails stabbed down at her as she rolled,   
one caught her robe but the poorly-used garment tore instead of   
holding her pinned. She got her feet under her and slashed at the   
Yuuzhan Vong who'd tried to stab her, now occupied with prying   
his amphistaff's tail out of the ground.  
  
The snake head turned flexible and spat venom at her, she   
dodged and the poison flew over her shoulder. Thinking quickly,   
the Jedi adjusted her swing and struck the head off the amphistaff   
before it could harden again. His weapon now limp and lifeless,   
the warrior reached for his coufee, but not before Vergere, by now   
running purely on adrenalin and the Force, stabbed with her Jedi   
weapon up into the Vong's armpits. She shoved the point of the   
burning blade deeper, into the heart itself. The warrior died   
instantly.  
  
  
"Jedi!" The voice and blazing eyes were all too familiar.   
Nom Anor leapt over the falling warrior and swung his amphistaff,   
Vergere parried and jumped backward...into the Yuuzhan Vong   
who had circled to attack her from behind. The Force did not alert   
her to the attack, of course, or the gauntlet-covered fist that struck   
the back of her head.  
  
She was lucky the punch was only a glancing blow and   
Didn't kill her instead of merely leaving her stunned, lucky it was   
the warrior whose staff she had cut in half earlier, else he would   
have stabbed her. But her luck ran out when the tail of Nom   
Anor's amphistaff impaled her stomach.  
  
The next instant she was lying on her back, with the dark   
shape of Nom Anor standing over her. With her eyes she followed   
the body of the amphistaff he held until it reached and buried itself   
in her body, pinning her to the ground.  
  
"So," Nom Anor pulled his helmet off with one hand and   
let it drop to the ground, "it ends now." He had been escalated   
since they'd last met: his face was broken along one side and   
scarred along the other, tattoos swirled along his face and down his   
neck. "Anything to say before you die, Jedi?" He braced his foot   
on her chest and pulled the amphistaff out of her with a cruel twist.  
  
She watched, transfixed, as a small fountain of blood   
spurted from her stomach and stained her robe. Distantly, she felt   
the Force tell her she might survive if she got immediate treatment.   
Not a likely prospect.  
  
She wrenched her gaze away from the growing stain of her   
life blood and looked to Nom Anor, who spun the amphistaff over   
his head. At least I bought some time for the others she thought.   
Master Thracia, I will join you at last, you and all the others who   
fell. The razor edge of Nom Anor?s staff descended for a killing   
stroke...  
  
And a heavy, reptilian body crashed into Nom Anor and   
bore him to the ground. The other four surviving Vong spun   
around and moved to spread out, but one was too slow to avoid a   
blaster bolt to the chest at close range. The vonduun shell armor   
held for a fraction of a second before melting and letting the   
killing energy into the Vong's vital organs. The warrior dropped   
like a stone.  
  
  
Vergere shivered at the wave of dark side energy that   
seemed to wash over everything like a tide of raw sewage. She   
glanced up as the shooter, Drash Tevock, plowed into the Yuuzhan   
Vong, an expression of savage glee twisting his face into a   
Demon's mask.  
  
There are some beings, Masters Yoda or Mace Windu for   
instance, who shone in the Force with a pure, brilliant light for   
those who were Force sensitive to see. Drash had that right now,   
only he didn't shine.  
  
He burned!  
  
A fire raging out of control, destroying all in its path, that   
was how Tevock appeared in Vergere's eyes.  
  
"Do-ro'ik vong pratte!" A warrior screamed as he rushed   
Drash, but the Imperial pilot was moving with preternatural speed,   
unknowingly using the dark side to enhanced his speed and   
strength to horrifying degrees. His blaster was dry, so he dropped   
it and charged with only his bare hands. The Vong swung his   
amphistaff to disembowel, and Drash caught the serpent just   
behind the head. The Yuuzhan Vong found himself wrestling for   
possession of his own amphistaff!  
  
The Vong tried to brace himself but Drash's forward shove   
knocked him backwards to the ground, leaving the amphistaff in   
Drash's grip. The serpent turned flexible and lashed at the human,   
but Drash simply twisted the snake's head to break its neck.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong was on his feet in an instant, coufee in   
hand. He stabbed but caught only the edge of the Imperial's worn-  
out shirt as Drash continued his berserker attack, delivering a   
succession of punches to the warrior's body. The Vong was forced   
backward, Drash's knuckles bled, and the vonduun shell over the   
warrior's abdomen...cracked.  
  
Vergere gasped when the reptilian claw gripped her   
shoulder, then Oin was leaning over her, slit-eyes intense. "Can   
you move?" He asked quickly as he pressed a fold of her robe over   
the bleeding wound. "Can you walk?"  
  
Narrowing her eyes, the Jedi focused her attention inward   
instead of at the world around her. She stretched her feet, made   
her toes curl and uncurl to confirm what her senses told her: the   
amphistaff had missed her spine, she could walk. "Yes," she   
nodded weakly, Oin wasted no time in getting her gently but   
quickly to her feet.  
  
"Hurry, we have to hurry," Oin muttered as he practically   
carried her away from the fighting. Vergere drew on the Force for   
strength and helped by walking as best she could, one hand was   
pressed against her abdomen to help the robe staunch the wound,   
the other arm was slung around Oin's long neck. She opened her   
free hand and the lightsaber flew into her grip.  
  
For the first time, she looked away from Drash and sought   
out the other Yuuzhan Vong. Dra had surprised one of the   
warriors and jumped on his armored back from behind, powerful   
Nesz jaws were clamped on the Vong's head. Dra strained to   
overcome the vonduun shell while using his arms to fend off the   
warrior's amphistaff. So far the serpent hadn't bit him, but the   
Vong was clawing like mad at the Nesz on his back.  
  
Vergere's attention was diverted from the fight when the   
final warrior, this one slightly smaller than the other Yuuzhan   
Vong, appeared in front of her and Oin. The whirling amphistaff   
stabbed at Oin, who tried to dodge while supporting Vergere's   
awkward weight. The Jedi acted without thought, switching her   
lightsaber to life and knocking aside an attack that would have   
taken Oin's legs out from under him.  
  
Vergere sucked in breath and held the robe tighter over her   
wound, it had taken all her strength to block the Vong's strike,   
which had nearly tore the lightsaber from her hand, and even now   
the warrior drew back to strike again, moving with sinuous grace.   
The Jedi knew she would not be able to keep hold of her weapon.  
  
The Vong closed in - and was struck by a blaster bolt to the   
shoulder that spun the warrior around. Stent fired again, this time   
catching the warrior in the upper abdomen. The force knocked his   
opponent backwards to crash on the ground. The Chiss was too far   
away to actually penetrate the vonduun shell armor with his blaster   
shots, but he could and did knock the warrior back down with the   
force of the blasts whenever the barbarian tried to move.  
  
"Come on!" Stent barked, eyes glowing furiously as   
Vergere and Oin hurried past him.  
  
"I told you to go on without me." She told the Chiss   
angrily. Stent backed away from the fighting as well, keeping pace   
with them.  
  
  
"I would have," he said shortly, "but the natives refused to   
leave without you."  
  
Dra had succeeded: with a loud crack the Yuuzhan   
Vong's helmet broke in the Nesz's mouth. The Nesz leader felt his   
teeth sink into skin and tangle in hair, he bit down all the harder.   
The Vong's skull cracked much more easily than the helmet that   
encased it had, and the invader dropped, dead weight.  
  
Dra jumped off the dead alien's back and ran toward his   
allies, spitting out foul-tasting stuff all the way.  
  
"Lt. Tevock, come on!" Stent ordered as he squeezed off   
another shot at the smaller Vong. Drash wasn't concerned with his   
superior's orders, though, and executed a spinning back-kick that   
sent the warrior to the ground. Drash kept the attack up, landing   
punches and kicks on the unmoving Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
Then Nom Anor was rising out of the tall grass, holding the   
broken body of the Nesz scout who had attacked him. He threw   
the body aside, took up his amphistaff and rushed at Drash. The   
Imperial whirled to meet him, holding the beaten Vong's coufee in   
one hand.  
  
The smaller Vong bounded up again, but this time charging   
at Drash instead of the Jedi. The Imperial laughed as the both   
converged on him.  
  
Stent checked his blaster. "Low on power," he muttered as   
Dra caught up with them, "all right, let's move!" With Dra leading   
the way, the four fugitives ran deeper into the marsh.  
  
"No," Vergere tried to look back, "we can't leave Tevock!"   
He was deep in the dark side, but he still had a chance, could still   
be redeemed, there were too few Force-strong beings left in the   
galaxy to let even one perish.  
  
"He's buying us time." Stent said.  
  
Vergere tried to protest further, but could feel the strength   
draining out of her as her body instinctively began putting her into   
a healing trance. She turned her head once more to get a last look   
at the Imperial pilot, and only now noticed that the robe over her   
lower back was dark with blood. Nom Anor's amphistaff had gone   
all the way through her body.  
  
  
Like pinning an insect's wings was her last thought   
before the world went black. Her lightsaber dropped from   
nerveless fingers, but Oin caught the weapon before it could hit the   
ground.  
  
***************************************  
Nom Anor lashed his amphistaff like a whip and caught the   
human's knife-arm in its coils. He yanked the infidel's arm   
downward and aimed a side-kick at his head.  
  
Laughing, Drash ducked the kick and tried to charge Nom   
Anor, but another amphistaff whipped around his legs and pulled   
his feet out from under him. Drash fell on his face, pushed himself   
up, and got a forearm-blow to the face from Nom Anor, followed   
by a kick to the midsection that knocked the wind out of him.   
Finally, Nom Anor was able to deliver a chop to the back of the   
Human's neck, cutting the force of the blow at the last instant to   
stun instead of kill.  
  
Breathing hard, Nom Anor stared at the now-senseless   
berserker who had, with his bare hands, nearly torn apart a   
Yuuzhan Vong warrior in full armor.  
  
A shadow crossed the Imperial. Nom Anor spun,   
amphistaff raised in a guard position, to face Ceis Grasm. The   
subaltern held her amphistaff ready also. They watched one   
another for a moment and Nom Anor wondered if she would make   
her move now to ensure that he would not return from this   
mission.  
  
Apparently not, as she relaxed and bade the amphistaff curl   
around her arm. Nom Anor did likewise. Ceis Grasm loosened   
her helmet and pulled it off, then looked down at the stunned   
Imperial.  
  
"I didn't know infidels could fight like that."  
  
Nom Anor was glad she was looking downward, so she   
didn't see the breath catch in his throat. He had never seen her   
unmasked before; and she was stunning.  
  
  
Her hair was the color of the void behind the stars, the   
tresses were greased and stuck close to her skull now, which was   
better for the helmet, but would be rich and lustrous when let free.   
Her facial bones had been broken and remade until not a hint of   
symmetry remained in her visage.  
  
Tattooed symbols followed the contours of her face, traced   
the crooked, off-center nose and enhanced full lips already   
accessorised by numerous scars.  
  
"Yes," he shook his head, reminding himself of who she   
was and why she was here, "do you still see no chance for glory   
here, subaltern?" He allowed a trace of mockery to color his tone.  
  
Ceis Grasm stiffened slightly and fixed Nom Anor with a   
cold stare. A week ago, he would have lowered his eyes instantly.   
A week ago he would not have been able to speak to her at all in   
such a tone. It was not a week ago, and Nom Anor returned the   
pointed glare with one of his own, unconsciously aping an   
expression his father often used to quell subordinates.  
  
A trace of uncertainty appeared in Ceis Grasm's eyes, and   
Nom Anor had the satisfaction of seeing a flush spread up her neck   
and across her face. The female swallowed, but didn't look away   
as she donned her mask again.  
  
Nom Anor was surprised to feel the bite of disappointment   
on seeing her face covered again, while a mischievous part of him   
wondered at what kinds of markings adorned the body encased by   
the vonduun armor, and just how far down that flush went...  
  
A low groan broke the his concentration. Both turned to   
regard the warrior the human had so badly beaten stumble to his   
feet with the aid of his amphistaff, using the serpent like a cane.   
He shook his head, saw the helpless Imperial and staggered   
towards him, a low growl built in his throat.  
  
"Hold!" Nom Anor's amphistaff went rigid on command   
and the young Vong leveled the tail at the advancing warrior. The   
man came to a reluctant halt, shaking with fury. "This human   
fought with Yun Yammka's own heart, it would be a dishonor for   
him to die here." He turned the Imperial over with his foot, and his   
eyes widened when he saw the man's face clearly.  
  
"I know this Imperial," he said, "or at least, I've met him   
before." He noticed the other two Vong staring at him and smirked   
a little. He narrowed his eyes. "I spared his life once as well."  
  
  
"He cost us the Jedi you want so badly." The warrior   
snarled.  
  
Nom Anor narrowed his eyes. "A delay, no more; she is   
wounded." A predator's smile twisted his face. "She will not get   
far." He glanced at the warrior. "You are in no condition to track   
her."  
  
"A few bruises," he said dismissivly.  
  
"Your ribs are broken." Nom Anor eyed the man's side.  
  
"No heathen can harm a Yuuzhan Vong!" The warrior   
drew himself up, disregarding the pain and clearly intent on going   
on. "I am able to walk."  
  
"Then take this Imperial and go find the nearest party of   
Yuuzhan Vong." Nom Anor snapped. "That is an order." He bent   
down to retrieve his masked helmet, made to put it on, then   
changed his mind and tossed it on the Imperial's chest. "And take   
that with you." He said. "I will kill the Jedi with my face bare."  
  
"Have him taken to the temple." Nom Anor continued.   
"And tell them they would be wise to keep him unconscious until   
he reaches his destination." He turned away from the wounded   
man and looked toward Ceis Grasm, who was watching him in   
return, whatever expression she might have was once more hidden   
by the mask. His would-be assassin, an enemy's blade, aimed at   
his heart. "The subaltern and I will track the Jedi on our own."  
  
Ceis Grasm narrowed her eyes at the challenge in his tone.   
Nom Anor saw a kind of respect in her gaze as she inclined her   
head in agreement.  
  
***************************************  
"Are you awake yet?"  
  
The voice snapped Drash back into consciousness, but he   
didn't allow his eyes to open. Bright light above him, he could see   
it through his closed eyelids. He lay flat on his back on a cool,   
smooth surface. Instinctively, he continued to feign   
unconsciousness. He felt nothing of the stifling humidity and   
insect buzzing he associated with the swamp. He was indoors,   
then.  
  
  
Where was he? What had happened? The last thing he   
remembered was running from the Yuuzhan Vong while the Jedi   
covered their retreat. He remembered feeling excitement, but no   
fear. Then disappointment when he understood he would not be   
taking part in the fight.  
  
No, wait, the natives had refused to lead them, had gone   
back for the Jedi, forcing Stent to follow. He remembered feeling,   
hearing, smelling the fighting ahead. Then something had stirred,   
something dark and deadly coiled within him, brought to rabid   
wakefulness by the sheer fight-or-flight rush of adrenaline.  
  
What happened afterward was a blur of sounds and images,   
terrible, violent and yet exhilarating. Yes, he had...what had he   
done anyway?  
  
However it had turned out, it didn't look good, but seeing   
as he was undoubtedly a prisoner of the Yuuzhan Vong it was a   
wonder he was still alive.  
  
He remained still and tried to slow his rapid heartbeat, keep   
his breathing normal. It wasn't easy. He felt dulled, numb, he   
could get no sense of his surroundings the way he'd always been   
able to. Nothing but blank, empty space around him, like being in   
a sensory-depravation chamber.  
  
Calm, calm,he concentrated, and it was as though his   
hearing intensified to preternatural levels. The speaker stood near   
him by the sound of his voice, bare feet stirred slightly on the   
polished floor. Drash didn't seem to be restrained in any way.   
Cautiously, he opened his eyes a crack. He was just adjusting to   
the bright light when he felt the serpent prod his arm.  
  
He bounded to his feet with a cry of shock in his throat.   
The Imperial spun, dropping into a defensive crouch, and took in   
his surroundings at a glance.  
  
  
A big, single room, like a receiving hall but bare of   
furniture. The light came from a swarm of insects that crawled   
and flew about the high ceiling, their myriad glowing bodies   
revealed the living chamber of black coral in all its somber   
majesty. The floor was polished mirror-smooth and shiny, the   
vaulted ceiling was supported by ornately carved pillars of corral.   
The room was dominated by a towering, massive statue of living   
coral at the far end of the hall, grown in the image of a hideous   
humanoid sitting on a throne of skulls.  
  
Drash saw all that, but it was secondary. Most of his   
attention was focused on the speaker.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong stood a few paces distant. He was tall,   
thin even by the standards of the Vong, and obviously in advanced   
age. Horrible burns covered his body, and his eyes...Drash shrank   
away...he had no eyes, just empty sockets.  
  
The ghoul wore a semitransparent garment resembling a   
robe. A robe crisscrossed with blue veins. The fringes bristled   
with hairlike feelers, some short, some long, and all moving like a   
thousand antennae. It held the tail-end of a long amphistaff in one   
skeletal hand, the snake's wedge-shaped head slithered around in   
front of the Vong's bare feet. The forked tongue licked out and   
Drash flinched.  
  
"Ah, as I thought," the old Vong smiled, revealing a healthy   
set of sharp teeth, he spoke Basic with only a slight accent, "awake   
at last, and ready to begin your new life."  
  
"Where the hell am I?" Drash's eyes darted around the vast   
room, trying to peer into every shadow. Was it just the two of   
them here? He couldn't tell. Normally he knew instantly how   
many people were around him, but he got no feel for this place at   
all!  
  
"You are in the temple of Yun Yammka. I am Krelt, a   
priest of the Slayer." The old one's voice was deep and full of   
power, at odds with his obviously frail body. "You have been   
brought here because the warriors believe you may be worthy."  
  
"Worthy as what?" Drash didn't recognize the hoarse voice   
as his own. He looked around for a weapon. Nothing of course:   
they had taken everything but the clothes on his back. Even his   
boots were gone. He shifted his bare feet on the cold floor and   
noticed there were scars on his knuckles. Had they been bleeding?  
  
  
"As a sacrifice, possibly." Krelt answered, facing Drash's   
general direction. He took a few steps forward with the amphistaff   
slithering on the ground before his feet. Drash might have risked   
attacking the old priest if it wasn't for that staff: the snake watched   
him with cold, alert eyes, he had no doubt at all it would be ready   
if he tried an assault on its master. "But if you show yourself truly   
worthy of Yun Yammka then a much higher destiny awaits you."  
  
Drash felt the blood retreat from his face and it seemed a   
layer of ice coated his skin. This all seemed familiar.   
Familiar...and terrible. "What are you saying?" He found himself   
backed against a pillar by the approaching priest, pressed against   
the coral column with nowhere else to go.  
  
"There is no need for fear." It was not Krelt's voice than   
answered but another speaker, standing in the shadow of a pillar.   
"It will only blind you to the truth."  
  
Drash turned his head in the speaker's direction. The   
glowing red eyes that speared him from the shadows confirmed   
what the musical voice had suggested. A Chiss stepped into the   
light.  
  
And yet it was not a Chiss. Oh, it was humanoid in shape,   
with blue skin and red eyes, but there the similarity with Thrawn's   
race ended. The Chiss was thinner than any other specimen he'd   
seen before. Drash's first though was that the Vong had starved   
the other prisoner, but the emaciated body moved with strength   
and grace that suggested no unhealthiness.   
  
He was naked except for a loincloth around his waist, so   
Drash could clearly see the alien's body was covered in tattoos,   
swirling shapes and alien symbols burned into his blue flesh, as   
well as a number of ugly scars. The Chiss' nose had been broken   
and badly reset, and when he opened his mouth he revealed sharp,   
white fangs.  
  
"This is Wras." Krelt turned his blind face to the Chiss.   
"He is an initiate into our ways, as you may be." Drash could say   
nothing, only follow Wras with his eyes the same way he watched   
the amphistaff. The Chiss crossed the room to stand at Krelt's side   
and spoke to Drash.  
  
"I was like you, once." Wras said. "In my ignorance I   
fought them when I first came here. Now I know better." He   
turned to Krelt and took the priest?s free hand. Reverently, he   
pressed the back of the burned hand to his blue forehead. "He   
showed me the truth, as he will now show you, but you must   
accept and embrace it of your own will." The Chiss' fingers ended   
in hooked claws. He turned to Drash, and the pilot saw the   
fanatical fire in those intense, red eyes.  
  
"Yeah," Drash choked, "I think I have time for a sermon,   
just don't expect any donations." He tried to grin at Wras, but the   
expression on his face was one of pure horror. "The Empire's pay   
isn't too hot, he can tell you that."  
  
"You have nothing to worry about." Krelt smiled. "Yun   
Yammka's tribute comes from your flesh, not your purse." With   
Wras beside him, he took another step toward the human. "And   
our sermons involve action, not words." He touched the bluish   
sack below one eye socket.  
  
"Yun Yammka is a demanding master, and sacrifices must   
be made." He turned his face toward the monstrous statue, the   
light from the lumin bugs made its face seem to writhe. "In my   
youth I failed to understand that, and so I dug out my eyes to better   
see the truth." Drash turned white. "Your first lesson begins now.   
Ready the Embrace of Pain."  
  
Drash opened his mouth to ask what that was, but there was   
no need. In response to Krelt's words something began to   
unfold from the far wall.  
  
"In the Embrace," Wras said, "you will take your first step   
to finding the gods."  
  
That was enough to break the frail facade of calm Drash   
had tried to put up and drown him in a flood of raw terror. Now he   
knew where he really was, why this seemed so familiar: he was   
back in the commune again, back with Frae who was determined   
to purify the little children no matter the cost. The faces were   
different, the names were different, but that was all.  
  
Drash screamed and pushed away from the pillar. He ran,   
bare feet thumping on the floor, not knowing where he was   
running to, just running as a little boy had once run when Frae had   
decided he must be punished for some slight or even imagined   
transgression. The old man's voice I do this out of love echoed   
in Drash's skull in the sad, regretful tone that meant something   
truly terrible indeed was in store for him.  
  
  
Wras caught him before he had taken a dozen steps. The   
Chiss wrapped his long arms around Drash and hauled him back to   
the Embrace with hideous, unnatural strength. Drash screamed   
again. Every step toward the Embrace of Pain was a step back in   
time, to the shocklash across a little boy's naked back, to the cold   
water and the boiling, to days on end without food or water until   
he would beg for a scrap of garbage.  
  
Panic made him thrash and writhe Wras' grip, even though   
he knew he wouldn't get away. Had he ever really believed he'd   
escaped from Zeser Frae? No, not really, not in his bones, not in   
his soul. His life since the Empire had recruited him had been a   
dream. A fantasy. He had always been in the commune, and he   
always would be.  
  
"We do this to help you." Wras said to him, and Drash only   
screamed the all louder. The Embrace of Pain stretched its long   
limbs toward him, and his screams were the screams of a child   
caught in a nightmare from which he would never awaken.  
  
  



	9. Clash of Fates II: Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine  
  
The screams resounded in the vast coral cavern.  
  
Like many communal areas in the worldship's belly, the   
hold was at least five stories tall and so wide that the grand   
archways on one end could barely be seen from the other. Thick   
pillars grew from the floor, etched with intricate carvings. A few   
unruly Vong children were using the etchings as handholds to   
climb the pillars. Some adults paused to watch, amused at the   
antics.  
  
It was a game, to see who could climb to the top, snatch   
one of the lumin bugs from the roof and bring it to the floor first.   
One of the children had slipped, fallen to the floor and broken her   
neck. The other children had paused only long enough to glance   
down and see that their companion wasn't going to get up before   
resuming their play. A squat, crablike creature had removed the   
body. None of the other Vong bothered giving it a second glance.  
  
The communal areas of the worldship were always a buzz   
of activity, where off-duty Yuuzhan Vong could relax, dine or   
otherwise seek recreation. Several tall fountains reared up in the   
center of the cavern, where colorful avians perched to drink. The   
birds nested in the fragrant plant life that grew in the hold, fed by   
attendant creatures and watered by the fountains.  
  
Paths wound their way through the gardens, dotted by   
benches and gazebos for Yuuzhan Vong to relax and meditate on   
their surroundings. There were flat areas for Vong children to   
form teams and play various sports, and young lovers courting took   
long walks down the paths.  
  
The screams were loud indeed to resound in that place.   
They were good screams, hallowed screams, loud enough to reach   
the ears of the gods.  
  
The ears of one particular goddess especially.  
  
  
So Sang Anor thought as he gazed down from the third   
story walkway along the curving wall, claws lightly brushing the   
railing. He picked out the sacrifices, lined up against the far wall   
so as not to disturb the flow of traffic. They numbered fifty in all,   
of various species. He counted six humans, more than twenty   
Xanians, a Transhodan and two odd, bristly little aliens who called   
themselves Ryn. There were others, all of various ages. It didn't   
really matter who or what they were: even among the infidels they   
had been slaves.  
  
For years, Coerl had been in the business of sweeping the   
poorer districts of his conquered worlds and selling undesirables   
into the slave trade, and Sang Anor had seen no reason not to   
continue the practice after gaining control of the Warlord: it was   
an easy way of obtaining sacrifices.  
  
  
It was simplicity itself to have a slave transport (crewed by   
Yuuzhan Vong in masquers) divert course off the normal   
hyperspace lanes where the Long Reach could take possession,   
and hopefully giving these fifty infidel lives to Yun Harla would   
entreat her to grant him success in his deception. If all went well,   
the Imperial presence would soon be destroyed by revolt from   
within and warlords without.  
  
In addition, Sang Anor had ordered several top-of-the-line   
droids included in this particular shipment, but saw no reason to   
bring those abominations aboard the worldship. The worldship   
had simply crushed them, ship and all, with its dovin basals.  
  
While it was technically true that all the 'plague' victims   
and the casualties from the skirmishes between Thrawn's forces   
and the warlords' were sacrifices to the Cloaked Goddess, Sang   
Anor thought these extra fifty, sacrificed with the full rites and   
ceremony, would provide that extra, personal touch that could   
make all the difference.  
  
Behind containment fields maintained by dovin basals,   
black-robed priestesses of Yun Harla oversaw the sacrifices, with   
each one being performed in a different, more inventive way than   
the one before. The Cloaked Goddess was not Yun Yammka,   
wanting nothing more than bloody-minded brutality in her   
devotees. No, she demanded more subtle and imaginative methods   
in her sacrifices.  
  
In one area, a Ryn was being slowly torn apart by opposing   
gravitational fields from dovin basals. In another, blorash jelly had   
forced itself down a humans throat and was playfully exploring his   
innards. Forty-eight other torments went on enthusiastically, with   
sluglike njdin happily licking up the blood on the floor.  
  
Sang Anor nodded. Courting Yun Harla's favor was no   
different than courting any other female, except in scale. He   
quirked a thin smile, he would serenade the goddess with infidel   
screams.  
  
Giving a final glance backward, he turned and walked   
down a coral hallway leading away from the common-area, he had   
an appointment to keep.  
  
The hall was a wide tunnel with many branches, heavily   
traveled by Yuuzhan Vong, but even the busiest took time to at   
least incline his or her head in passing when they saw him.  
  
Sang Anor made his stride especially brisk, his face a mask   
of sternness, to make up for an earlier weakness he had indulged   
in. While he had overseen the sacrifices from the balcony he had,   
for a moment, allowed himself to be lulled by the peaceful   
atmosphere of the communal area; watching a pair of courting   
Vong, younglings with apparently nothing on their minds but each   
other, he had found himself staring off into space, tracing the   
tattoo that adorned his left cheek with a sharp talon, unaware of   
the trickle of blood streaming down his hand and face.  
  
He treasured that tattoo above all his others: Lyrra Anor   
had given it to him, had drawn it on his face the day they bonded.   
It was her personal sigul, a brand that proclaimed to the world that   
she was his Primary wife. Among other things that meant she   
ruled his household, and any other female who wished to bond him   
had to approach her first.  
  
  
Sang Anor smiled, his Primary had sent any female foolish   
enough to try crawling away with broken limbs and a few extra   
scars, if the unfortunate was lucky. Nor were they the only ones to   
feel her anger: he had the hardest time convincing her that he did   
nothing to encourage those proposals. He remembered the fights   
they?d had after each incident, he could still feel the sting of her   
claws sometimes. Truly exquisite fights, almost as exquisite as the   
making-up that always followed.  
  
Memories and sensations had caught him like an arachnid's   
web, he remembered Lyrra Anor so clearly, every mood, every   
expression. She had been the one Vong he could never quite get   
the best of : she knew every trick he had, every strategy he could   
devise. She knew his mind better than he himself did, and had   
been able to slip past all his defenses with ease and drive him to   
distraction, she made him feel pleasure and pain like no other   
being could.  
  
Three years had past and yet it seemed impossible: he   
Couldn't conceive of a universe without Lyrra Anor in it. There   
were times he had entered his quarters fully expecting her to greet   
him, or to see her working with the other Shapers, eyes shining   
with excitement as she made yet another discovery. Last night he   
had almost felt her beside him when he awoke, only   
remembering the truth when he had reached out and   
touched...nothing.  
  
Sang Anor made himself dredge up all his grief, made   
himself embrace the pain. All pain was to be embraced, even this.  
  
Near the end of the tunnel he spied a hunched, shuffling   
shape out of the corner of his eye. Nearly doubled over both by its   
deformed back and legs and by the shame that weighed down on it.   
A Shamed One: a Yuuzhan Vong who had been found wanting at   
the Time of Changing, and rather than escalation, they had been   
consigned to the lowliest status a Vong could sink to. The Shamed   
Ones were lower than slaves, lower even than infidels, who at least   
had ignorance as an excuse for their unworthiness. The other gods   
had turned their faces from them, only Yun Shuno, that most   
contemptible of deities, would hear their prayers.  
  
The Shamed Ones were enveloped head to toe in their thick   
robes, and they would never venture near the communal areas or   
any other heavily trafficked space on the worldship. There was no   
honor in their deformities, they were signs of weakness and the   
gods? disfavor.  
  
Trying to stay out of the light, the Shamed One hurried   
down the hallway, the ragged hem of its robes dragging on the   
floor. It. That was how Sang Anor automatically thought of the   
creatures, because it was impossible to tell their genders under the   
robes and because they were no longer even people as the Yuuzhan   
Vong reckoned things. None of the Vong in the hallway looked   
quite in the Shamed One's direction, they neither glanced at it in   
sympathy nor kicked and jeered at it. They went about their   
business as if unaware the squat, lumpish being even existed.  
  
  
A Vong turned the corner and ran down the corridor, there   
was a look of deep concentration on her face and she held a head-  
sized villip carefully in both hands. The cut and color of her tunic   
identified her as an apprentice Shaper, the villip was the type used   
for information storage, most likely plans needed for one of the   
Shapers' projects. The Shaper was so intent on the villip that she   
failed to notice the Shamed One until she actually treading on its   
robe, at which point the color fled her face and she jumped back   
with an audible squeak before scurrying down the corridor as if   
afraid Yun Shuno himself would appear to claim her. They might   
refuse to acknowledge the pariah, but they saw the Shamed One.   
Oh yes, they all saw, and they all knew the penalty for failing the   
gods.  
  
As he reached the end of the corridor, Sang Anor saw a   
Vong child with a sweet in one hand glance at the Shamed One   
and swallow visibly. Evidently losing his appetite, the child tossed   
the sweet in the Shamed One's path before hurrying away. The   
robed creature didn't reach out to take the scrap, even though its   
malformed hand was undoubtably gloved, instead it shuffled   
forward until its robes covered the bit of food, then bent down to   
take it. A Shamed One would not reveal any part of its body if it   
could help it.  
  
"Anyone can misstep, but the higher you stand, the steeper   
you fall." Sang Anor jumped slightly as he spun around, evidently   
he was a little more shaken than even he realized, but composed   
himself as he faced the black-robed priestess.  
  
"A fact I always keep in mind." He replied to the priestess,   
a handsome Vong in her middle-years, with traces of grey in her   
black hair. He smiled slightly and raised a brow. "I trust I have   
not kept you waiting?"  
  
"No," she shook her head, "I am just returning from some   
business of my own," she turned and motioned for him to walk   
beside her, "overseeing the sacrifices you so generously provided   
for us."  
  
"Have you seen any omens in the sacrifices?" Sang Anor   
asked. "Any signs that Yun Harla smiles on my plans to frustrate   
her enemies?"  
  
The priestess shrugged. "The goddess is never direct, even   
with her followers. Many a time a portent has been speculated to   
mean one thing only to have it discovered that the exact opposite is   
the intent."  
  
"Spoken like a true devotee, a great many words to say very   
little." He chuckled.  
  
"So speaks a man who thinks he can buy a goddess' favor   
like a merchant." She returned. "I do not presume to tell you how   
to wage a war, you would be wise not to criticize my calling."  
  
"Point taken." Sang Anor conceded as they came to Yun   
Harla's temple. He knew better than to insult a follower of the   
Cloaked Goddess. Yun Yammka himself had been brought low   
more than one by incurring her wrath. Overlords had been   
humbled for offending Yun Harla. They moved to one of the side   
entrances and went inside.  
  
  
The temple was dimly lit and the slightly sharp tang of   
incense spiced the air. Priestesses were performing rites and   
nearly three dozen females of varying ages and occupations were   
present, most of which were Shapers: Yun Harla was the goddess   
of skill and craft, the Shapers were among her chieftest devotees.  
  
The priestess guided Sang Anor along a wall carved with   
scenes representing the Cloaked Goddess' many triumphs: the   
breeding of the first dovin basals that allowed the Yuuzhan Vong   
to leave their own planet, in the wars against the machinists of   
their own galaxy where stealth and misdirection were as important   
as brute force, and finally the grand exodus from their galaxy in   
search of a new home.  
  
"Things have been set up for you in here." Sang Anor's   
robed guide said softly. She led him into a small side chamber   
with a single occupant: a younger priestess sitting cross-legged   
before a statue of Yun Harla. She rose gracefully and bowed to the   
other priestess.  
  
"Who gives tribute?"  
  
"I do." Sang Anor said.  
  
"From your own flesh?" He nodded. "For what reason?"  
  
"That is a private matter," he replied firmly, "between   
myself and Yun Harla." The questioner raised a brow and glanced   
and the senior priestess, who nodded. She was probably just as   
curious as to just why Sang Anor had asked for a scourging.  
  
"So be it then." She bowed again to the other priestess, she   
inclined her head in response and withdrew, sealing the door.  
  
The priestess held out her hands. Sang Anor removed his   
clothing: a loincloth and sleeveless tunic, and laid them across her   
arms. "Your place is there." She indicated the space in front of   
the shrine.  
  
Sang Anor stood at the center of the chamber, facing the   
statue. He held his arms outstretched and two thin tendrils   
slithered out from ridge compartments in the coral ceiling. They   
explored the air as they lowered themselves, and on encountering   
Sang Anor's hands they coiled around his wrists and tightened,   
cutting deep into his flesh.  
  
He hissed through his teeth as he felt his feet leave the   
floor, but did not take his eyes off the statue. He didn't resist when   
two other tendrils emerged from the floor and caught his ankles.   
All four of them pulled with equal force, until they were a hair   
away from pulling his joints out of their sockets.  
  
Then that section of the chamber revolved slowly until he   
was upside-down and suspended: now the bloodflow to his head   
would keep him conscious throughout.  
  
  
The priestess had crossed the room to a small side-niche in   
the chamber, it held a basin fed by a stream of pure water and   
several handles were mounted on the wall. She folded Sang   
Anor's clothing over one handle, then removed her robe and placed   
it on another. A sheet of coral closed over the niche, so no blood   
would spatter on the clothing.  
  
"Goddess," she intoned softly, "hear your disciple. One has   
come to offer up tribute: his blood to feed you, his pain to make   
you strong, in the hope that you will see fit to grant..." she paused,   
here she was to name the supplicant's desire, "his request." She   
knelt at the image's feet and picked up the short whip that lay   
across the alter, then stood and turned toward Sang Anor in one   
fluid motion. Without further preamble, she drew her arm back   
and lashed him.  
  
It took a few seconds for Sang Anor to feel the pain of the   
lash, and by then she had struck him a second time, and then a   
third. In proficient hands, the whip was an instrument of pain that   
could cut to the bone with a single lash. The priestess was clearly   
skilled in its use.  
  
Sang Anor embraced the waves of pain and focused on the   
image of the Cloaked Goddess. Yun Harla was represented as a   
tall, feminine shape, but beyond that he could make out no specific   
feature: the lighting was dim and the statue was grown from oltdan   
corral, a substance that breathed out misty vapor from its pores.   
The mist quickly dispersed into the air, but left the effigy   
enveloped in a continual shroud. He peered at the image, trying to   
see the features past the mist and knowing it was useless.  
  
The other sacrifices, on the worldship and the plague-  
ridden worlds, were purely political: to entice Yun Harla's support   
in destroying the Imperials and securing Sang Anor's hold on the   
Unknown Regions. This offering, on the other hand, was personal.  
  
I have sent my only son into my enemy's stronghold, in   
pursuit of another enemy at least ten times as deadly as the   
Prefect. He prayed to the Cloaked Goddess as the whip cut into   
his shoulders. He knew the Jedi's prowess, and he could easily   
predict Ke'Nass' stupid and spiteful reaction to Nom Anor, and yet   
he had sent the boy, newly raised to adulthood, into that viper's   
nest.  
  
It was not so much a test as certain death, but that was the   
way of the Yuuzhan Vong: while other races coddled and   
weakened their young, the Vong made every effort to strengthen   
their children, so that every generation would be stronger than the   
one preceding it. He'd had no choice: the gods demanded nothing   
less of a man who would be Overlord.  
  
But he had already been made to sacrifice more than he had   
ever dreamed for that goal.  
  
He noticed the blood running in hot, crimson rivers from   
the new cuts on his body. Take my pain, he thought as another   
strike of the whip racked him, and grant him success and an   
honorable return, this I beg of you. The blood flowed down into   
the grooves in the carved floor and was drawn down the channels   
to the statue's feet. Take from me if you wish, and let him live.  
  
  
Of course, she could easily reject Sang Anor's solicitations:   
many who tried to play Yun Harla's game found themselves the   
netted insect rather than the one spinning the web. She was fickle,   
and keeping her favor could sometimes be worse than losing it: the   
Cloaked Goddess was a jealous mistress, one who would tolerate   
no rivals in her servants' hearts. Sang Anor had learned of that   
firsthand three years ago, when he had allowed the Jedi to escape.  
  
It had all been part of his plan: the Jedi would escape and   
Sang Anor would lay the blame on the then commander of the   
worldship. Using that as an excuse, he could challenge that   
Executor. Gaining control of this mission had been the first step   
toward ruling the entire galaxy.  
  
He had planned and executed the scheme flawlessly, so   
much so that no one, not even the Jedi herself, had a clue that the   
escape was anything other than a matter of pure chance. Sang   
Anor alone knew the truth, he had made certain of that. He flexed   
his bound hands. With those hands he had silenced everyone   
involved who might bear witness against him.  
  
Permanently.  
  
He had released her, but what had happened next wasn't a   
part of the plan. She was supposed to escape, nothing more.   
Certainly she was not to...he shuddered in a way that had nothing   
to do with his flogging.  
  
If Nom Anor knew the full story, he would want to take his   
Father's head off with his own hands, and Sang Anor doubted he   
could bring himself to fight back if that day ever came. He   
squeezed his eyes shut, he had been half-crazed with grief when he   
had challenged the Executor, grief and...guilt. But it had all been a   
matter of chance and the whims of the gods. Simple as that. It   
was not his fault. It couldn't be his fault.  
  
How would he live with himself if it was?  
  
The pain was like electric volts surging through him now.   
No, it was the Jedi's fault. She was to blame, and she had to die.   
The knowledge that she lived gnawed at him, was like a spur on   
his back. He would never again know peace while she lived.  
  
Never again.  
  
The crack of the whip.  
  
Never again.  
  
It tore into him.  
  
Never!  
  
An eternity later Sang Anor seemed to swim out of a black   
sea, called by a voice from the surface.  
  
  
"What?" He asked, noting that he was upright again.  
  
"Your offer has been accepted." The priestess replied. She   
pointed at the statue with the bloodied whip. Sure enough, the   
oltdan corral had reacted favorably with Sang Anor's blood, the   
mist had turned a deep scarlet. The goddess had received his   
blood, a good omen.  
  
The tendrils unwound from his ankles and he let his   
rubbery legs dangle awhile. The priestess opened the niche and   
took a folded cloth from a shelf there. She soaked it in the water   
and wiped the lash clean before returning it to its place. She then   
began washing the blood from Sang Anor's body while he hung in   
the chamber. The wounds made by the lash were already healing,   
but loss of blood had weakened him.  
  
"Has my-" she had gotten the last of the blood and the   
tendrils lowered him to the floor, and his knees threatened to   
buckle under his weight. He clenched his teeth against the   
whimper that had threatened to escape his chest. Remember who   
you are. He embraced the pain and made his legs stiffen by force   
of will. "Will my request been granted?" He asked calmly, by his   
tone it was only a minor concern.  
  
"Yun Harla has acknowledged your tribute." She replied.   
"What she decides at this point is not revealed to me." The tendrils   
released his wrists.  
  
"So be it then." The priestess donned her robe, then took   
his clothing from the niche and dressed him. The door irised open   
and the elder priestess entered, bowing first to Yun Harla's image   
and then to Sang Anor.  
  
"It went well?"  
  
"Quite well." Sang Anor nodded. He thanked the younger   
priestess for her time and effort on his behalf, then walked out   
with his guide.  
  
As they exited the temple, she handed him a goblet of   
pinter juice to help him regain his strength, the fruits having been   
enhanced by Shapers to increase the vitamin and nutrient value.  
  
"Thank you." Sang Anor sipped the drink, refusing to   
wince at his sore muscles. "She very devoted to her work." He   
jerked his head in the direction of the temple.  
  
"My third daughter." The priestess smiled and a trace of   
pride entered her voice. "I instructed her myself."  
  
"She is well trained." He nodded and they exchanged   
pleasantries awhile longer before he departed. He had other   
appointments to keep.  
  
  
******************************  
  
Coerl sat back in his ruined chambers and wished for a   
window. For his own safety, he had made certain his private   
chambers were well away from the outermost wall of the bunker:   
an assassin could shoot through a window, after all, and he spent   
most of his time outside or on one of his warships anyway, so there   
was never any real reason for one. Besides, who would want a   
view of the polluted sky of Orune Prime? Almost reflexively he   
barked a short laugh, a bitter and hollow sound in the empty room.   
He was the most powerful man in the sector, a word from him was   
law, and he would trade his life for one last look at the sun.   
Gladly.  
  
How his mother, a strict ascetic who had taken a cane to his   
backside more than once, must be chuckling in her grave. She   
would undoubtably have some cutting and righteous remarks to   
make about her wayward son and the rewards of a virtuous life, as   
opposed to the one he had led. Coerl ground his teeth. He had   
strangled his mother in her bed over thirty years ago, the first time   
he had killed and himself still a boy, and she still tormented his   
dreams occasionally.  
  
The Warlord was sitting on the floor with his legs sprawled   
out in front of him and his back braced against a corner. He could   
get up and walk around if he wanted to, he hadn't been forbidden   
to move around these rooms, but there was no reason to. The door   
to his chambers was unlocked, but there might as well have been   
an energy field set to kill barring his way. He couldn't leave:   
she had told him to go to his chambers and remain there, and   
that was what he did, the lumpish growths under his scales made   
anything else impossible.  
  
Obeyers, that was what she called them. Whatever the   
creatures were, exactly, they were certainly effective. The slavers   
with whom Coerl often dealt would have paid fortunes for the   
secret of breeding them: Obeyers would have made the long   
process of breaking and training a sentient unnecessary and saved   
the slavers untold amounts of time and money. Coerl himself   
could vouch for that.  
  
Three years ago he would have been pacing around the   
room like a caged wildcat, he had always been a man of boundless   
energy, his cunning mind searching for ways to free himself and   
defeat his tormentors. Those three years had felt like three   
centuries, and even the most stubborn of beings eventfully grew   
weary of resisting the kind of punishments the Yuuzhan Vong   
dealt. Last night he had simply leaned against the wall and sunk to   
the floor. He hadn't moved since and didn't have any reason to do   
so.  
  
Coerl had never been a deep and philosophical thinker, the   
kind who pondered the intricate ironies of life and the universe.   
He had always devoted his mind to practical concerns: how to   
mount a successful attack on an enemy world, where and when to   
engage a fleet, how to make the most profit out of his conquests.   
Unable to exercise his intellect in that direction, he had found his   
thoughts turning inward instead, remembering his life and past   
victories.  
  
  
He had enlisted in the Monarch's Fleet the day after   
reaching adulthood, when he'd had his final molting and his crests   
had all grown in. He had risen through the ranks quickly: there   
were many opportunities for advancement considering the raids by   
pirates and warlords and the constant insurrections and seditions   
that had blossomed like nightweeds on Orune Prime. Coerl had   
made a name for himself by getting results, with a reputation for   
complete and utter ruthlessness in achieving his objectives, though   
he avoided putting himself in personal combat whenever possible.   
Eventually the King had been so impressed he had declared Coerl   
chief defender of the realm.  
  
Coerl had accepted gracefully, swearing by the gods of the   
Jrukto to serve the dynasty and defend his people against all   
enemies, within or without. In reality he served only himself, and   
when he saw his chance he hadn't hesitated a moment in   
overthrowing the weak and tottering monarchy ten years ago and   
taking control of the planet. He had hunted the royal family to   
extinction and crushed the royalists who supported them   
underfoot. Under his leadership, Orune Prime had gone from a   
backwater agrarian world to a major war machine. Of course,   
much of what many considered a naturally beautiful world was   
ruined by pollution when Coerl had industrialized the planet, but   
that and the fact that many needed special masks to breathe the air   
was never any real concern to him.  
  
Then he had looked to expand his territory. Several   
neighboring worlds had long-standing treaties with Orune Prime   
under the Monarchy, non-aggression pacts and trade agreements.   
Coerl had convinced those worlds that he would abide by the   
agreements, then took them by surprise when he launched his   
attacks.  
  
It was almost too easy. Planet after planet fell to his   
growing fleet. He stripped his conquered worlds of their wealth   
and resources and sold undesirables into the slave trade to finance   
his wars. Anyone who raised voice against him was arrested,   
given a quick show trial and either executed or used as slave labor.   
He once had hopes of ruling the entire sector, eventually.  
  
How could this have happened to me?  
  
The thought came without any real conviction. The fire   
that had once driven him to dominate everything around him had  
been suffocated over the years of captivity in his own home.   
Only ashes remained. Coerl closed his eyes. Perhaps he would   
sleep, perhaps not. He had once wished the lumin bugs on the   
ceiling would obey him as they did the Vong, that way he could at   
least make them dim down while he slept. Now, as with   
everything else, he no longer cared. All that really mattered was   
avoiding punishments.  
  
The mere thought of incurring his keepers' anger brought   
on a fit of dread that threatened to freeze his hearts; he hadn't   
known what pain was before Kei Rascer had begun his   
'training.' He was disciplined for causing his masters the slightest   
displeasure, for even attempting to misbehave.  
  
Not that he ever misbehaved these days: the price of   
defiance was too high.  
  
  
Idly, his gaze traveled around the room, to the objects of   
her rage: the broken glowpanels, the shattered viewscreens of his   
quarters. The Vong had dismembered every droid and device he'd   
owned on taking control of the bunker, in disgust of machines and   
frustration at being unable to do the same to all Orune Prime.   
They had punished him as well, for allowing technology to spread   
like a plague across his world and perpetuating it on his conquered   
territories.  
  
He would never forget his two worst punishments at Kei   
Rascer's hands: one after the first and only time he'd tried to kill   
her, the second after the first and only time he'd tried to kill   
himself. In both instances the attempt was a joke: the Obeyers had   
prevented him from acting on his plans. As bad as the pain that   
had followed was, much worse was the feeling of helplessness and   
shame.  
  
There had been no punishments for a good many months   
now, but that brought no comfort, not when he realized he had not   
only stopped fighting them, but was actively trying to please his   
new masters. That mindset had crept on him gradually, like a   
debilitating cancer, and the first time he felt that warm rush of   
security blossom in his chest and spread throughout his limbs after   
he pleased them, much as a pet must feel when the master   
scratches its ears, shame had gripped his innards and twisted with   
clawed hands. He had never been so disgusted with himself. The   
realization of what he'd become had prompted his first only   
suicide attempt.  
  
Since then he had stopped thinking, stopped planning,   
stopped telling himself he was only biding his time, waiting for a   
chance to fight back. This was his life now. Some might say he   
was paying the price for all he'd done, but Coerl was neither a   
religious man nor a theologian. He didn't believe in universal   
balance and he certainly didn't feel any repentance for the things   
he'd done. No, in Coerl's experience the universe operated by   
simple rules: the strong ruled the weak.  
  
He had discovered one thing about those who lived by that   
rule: eventually, inevitably, they encountered someone stronger   
than themselves, and while that argument was useful in justifying a   
ruler's actions, it was poor comfort to the ones ruled over.  
  
He heard footsteps in the corridor leading to his chambers   
and was on his feet in an instant, hands clasped and head lowed.   
He knew how to behave around his masters.  
  
The temperature seemed to drop to below zero when Kei   
Rascer ordered the living door to open, the automatic door   
and the mechanism that made it work had been removed three   
years ago. His chief minder didn't intend on taking him on another   
tour of the city, she wasn't wearing an ooglith masquer and she   
was always at his side when he appeared in public, though she   
wore various guises.  
  
Coerl had been a man of great appetites, he was never with   
the same concubine for more than a month, and he sampled a wide   
variety. He'd once owned a graceful Twi'lek dancer and an exotic   
Falleen female, both dearly bought from slave traders because of   
their rarity in this part of the galaxy. Kei Rascer had avoided   
suspicion as much as possible by changing her appearance   
frequently, though Coerl wasn't certain if she used different   
masquers or altered the same one. He only saw the results: she   
would be a pale-skinned redhead one day, a tanned brunette the   
next and so forth.  
  
He never dared to question her: she was always in a foul   
mood before and after accompanying him on a tour of the city and   
being surrounded by such rampant technology. She was in a foul   
mood right now, her body radiated fury, but he didn't think he'd be   
going outside: not only was the Vong undisguised, she was   
wearing living armor. The silver-trimmed black shell pieces   
covered her except for head and hands and her long, black hair was   
tied back away from her face. She was ready for battle.  
  
"Come." She said shortly, and Coerl followed without   
thinking: the Obeyers took over his legs and propelled him after   
her.  
  
They hurried down the reformed halls to the broadcast   
room. The only machinery the Vong allowed was the com system   
- the holopad, projector and a generator to power them. They used   
this arrangement for Coerl to make private communications with   
his commanders or public broadcasts to his people.  
  
Despite the crippling despair at his predicament and the   
resulting lack of motivation, the cunning mind and powers of   
observation and deduction that had made Coerl a power in this   
sector remained functional and he passively noted all the signs of   
his keeper's distress. She was tense, visibly bursting with nervous   
energy and the kind of alertness that comes from adrenaline.   
Something was definitely wrong here.  
  
Wrong from the Yuuzhan Vong point of view, anyway.  
  
As they hurried down the corridor, the walls of the bunker   
shuddered in a way that Coerl recognized: fighters were strafing   
the building. Unexpected, almost in spite of himself, Coerl felt   
something like hope stir in his chest.  
  
A brief but very satisfying image of his loyal troops,   
somehow wise to his predicament, taking up arms to storm the   
bunker and free their leader was dispelled by a harsh voice   
speaking the Vong language. Kei Rascer paused and looked over   
her shoulder, annoyed, at the warrior standing in the open   
doorway. He wore full armor, with an amphistaff in hand and a   
bandolier of deadly creatures across his chest. Obviously ready for   
battle. Kei Rascer sighed and turned toward the doorway,   
gesturing for Coerl to follow.  
  
The holoprojector Coerl used to communicate with his   
commands had been set up in the room. A Vong in an ooglith   
masquer and the uniform of his chief bodyguard stood on the   
holopad facing the shimmering blue image of a tall, trim Jrukto,   
the garrison commander for the capital city. Kei Rascer circled the   
room to stand behind the hologram, where the disguised Vong   
could see her without taking his eyes away from the commander.   
The Vong weren't worried about the commander seeing them: he   
could only perceive what stood in the auditory and visual field   
created by the holopad.  
  
"-so raise the planetary shield!" The disguised Vong was   
saying as Coerl entered the room.  
  
"Can't be done." The Jrukto shook his head. "As soon as   
the shield went down the Imperials targeted the planetary array   
and the backup. Damage is too extensive, it could take days to   
fix."  
  
One of the Vong muttered something in a tone of disgust.   
Coerl didn't speak their language, but he got the gist of it:   
machines took a little damage and quit while living things would   
have fought on no matter how badly wounded.  
  
"They've started landing ground troops," the commander   
continued, "they'll be marching on the capital in less than ten   
minutes, six fighter wings are already here."  
  
"We've noticed." The Vong barely kept from snarling.  
  
"So far, the orbital defense platforms and armed satellites   
have kept the Star Destroyers from getting into position to   
bombard our cities, but they can't last much longer."  
  
"Send out a distress call to the fleet."  
  
"We've tried, they've set up a jamming field around the   
planet." The commander's crest rose and spread.  
  
"Deploy the garrison forces to defend the city and bunker,   
the-"  
  
"I want to speak to the Warlord." The Jrukto interrupted.   
"Do these orders come from him?" The Vong looked past the   
hologram to Kei Rascer. She glanced at Coerl, then back at the   
Vong and shook her head slightly.  
  
"The Warlord cannot be disturbed," the Vong drew himself   
up arrogantly, "I'm authorized to speak for him at present, no obey   
my orders!" Kei Rascer signaled and the armored Vong flipped off   
the holoprojector, hesitating only a second before touching the   
machine.  
  
Kei Rascer and the other two exchanged a few brief words,   
ending with her two subordinates bowing their heads and running   
out the door, probably to set up the living defenses the Yuuzhan   
Vong had installed in the bunker. Only now did Coerl realize how   
quickly all this had taken place, with none of them wasting any   
time with greetings and farewells. Such haste in the normally   
protocol-conscious beings was very unusual.  
  
Kei Rascer, Warlord in tow, departed the room as well.   
They turned another corner and stopped at a section of wall   
seemingly no different from the rest, whether seen from the light   
of the lumin bugs or of the glowpanels before they'd all been   
shattered two and a half years earlier.  
  
The bunker shivered again. An Imperial attack? It must be   
serious for them to spirit him to safety inside his fortified bunker.   
They were taking no chances with his life: they needed Coerl as   
their figurehead to maintain control of his territory and fleet.  
  
The hidden door would normally have responded to a small   
button in the corner, also disguised, but like everything else here   
the machinery that operated the door was offensive to the Yuuzhan   
Vong and rendered inoperable.  
  
They had installed their own system in its place. Kei   
Rascer rapped the wall her knuckles and the doorway slid open   
and smoothly as when servos and hydraulics had moved it. The   
elevator beyond had likewise been removed: Kei Rascer and Coerl   
stepped onto the flattened shell of the huge, crablike arachnid that   
gripped the durasteel walls with pincer-tipped and suction cup-  
coated legs.  
  
The creature slid the door shut with one leg and began the   
five-story decent to the bottom. Even Coerl had to admit the ride   
was smoother than any turbolift he'd experienced, and lumin bugs   
detached from the ceiling and hovered around them, following   
their progress down the shaft, providing more than adequate light.  
  
At the bottom, the creature opened the door and the two   
passengers stepped off into the subterranean hideaway. Kei Rascer   
gave a sharp command in her own language and the lumin bugs   
flew out of the shaft to join the swarm on the ceiling. A few more   
words had the crab-creature shutting the door and climbing up to   
the top with instructions to guard against anyone who tried to open   
the door without using the proper commands.  
  
Now that he was able, Coerl backed away from the Vong   
female and looked around his personal bolt-hole, which this place   
had been before the Yuuzhan Vong had taken over. Since then Kei   
Rascer had converted it into her personal dwelling. From what   
he'd learned of his masters he could understand why. At three   
levels underground it was the safest place in the bunker, having   
been built to withstand a heavy bombardment from orbit. It was   
also made entirely of stone-walls floor and ceiling-with the only   
machines being conveniences to store food and provide heat, air   
and light, all powered by a portable generator. What better place   
for someone who wants to be away from technology.  
  
Coerl hadn't seen the place in three years, but he wasn't   
surprised to see that all the machines had been removed. He   
was surprised to see what looked like an indoor meadow down   
here. The plush carpets had been taken out and the stone floor   
somehow converted to fertile soil covered in thick grass under the   
lumin bugs on the ceiling, which glowed with what looked and felt   
like natural sunlight.  
  
To complete the illusion, all the bugs were clustered in one   
spot on the ceiling. Their combined luminance was unbearably   
bright. The cluster of bugs were even positioned at exactly the   
angle the midmorning sun would be. They probably even moved   
across the cavern ceiling from east to west to mimic the sun.  
  
  
The once-bare stone walls were now covered by flowering   
vines attached to the rock by sticky sap. The large, varicolored   
flowers spiced the air with a soothing fragrance and the furniture   
was so unobtrusive it seemed to blend into the background. Taken   
all in, it was a lovely, pastoral scene, hardly what one would   
expect in the home of a tattooed demon like Kei Rascer. The   
flowers especially surprised Coerl: judging by how disgusted she   
was at playing the role of a concubine, he?d never have thought the   
being who had made his life hell for the past three years would   
have anything so...feminine in her quarters.  
  
One of the lumin bugs, slow, sluggish and obviously at the   
end of its short life-cycle, drifted near one of the blossoms, which   
promptly closed on the dying insect. Coerl swallowed at that, and   
at seeing the thorns that coated the long vines. They were barbed;   
once stuck in, they couldn't be pulled out. No, on second thought   
this place suited Kei Rascer perfectly.  
  
The bomb shelter didn't shudder, but Coerl was certain the   
Imperials hadn't been beat back. He knew about Thrawn and his   
well-earned reputation for brilliant campaigns, had studied the   
man's battles and victories, if anyone had a chance of   
overwhelming the planet's defenses and prying him out of this   
fortress, it was Thrawn. Going by all the energy his masters had   
spent on tying up his fleet and weakening him from within, the   
Grand Admiral had even the Yuuzhan Vong worried!  
  
There were less than twenty Yuuzhan Vong on Orune   
Prime and only six of them, counting Kei Rascer, were actually   
inside the bunker. If the Imperials could only get past the living   
defenses the Vong had set up inside the bunker...  
  
Coerl almost laughed out loud at the irony of it. Not too   
long ago he had viewed the Empire's growing power in the   
Unknown Regions as the greatest threat to his power, would have   
gone to any lengths to be rid of them. Now he saw them as   
saviors, and they were: he didn't care whether they were here to   
kill or capture him, only that they get him away from the Yuuzhan   
Vong.  
  
The excitement turned sour when he saw Kei Rascer,   
watching him with cold, narrow eyes. Instantly he adopted a   
subservient expression and posture.  
  
"Are you worried, my pet?" Coerl shivered, that tone often   
preceded a particularly painful punishment. He dared to raise his   
eyes. Kei Rascer stood beside a small table, on top of which sat a   
clam-like sclipune.  
  
She bared her upper teeth and ran a fingertip across her   
fangs so that blood welled from the cut. Using the bloodied finger,   
she traced a pattern on the top ridges of the sclipune. The hinged   
shell parted and the top swung open, revealing two items within: a   
head-sized, leathery villip and a spine-covered dovin basal, one of   
the four the Vong here possessed, the other three being situated to   
defend the bunker.  
  
"You needn't fear, we will keep you safe." Coerl cringed.   
"I guarantee it."  
  
****************************************************  
  
The Imperitor rained basterfire on the defense platform   
in orbit above Orune Prime. As Thrawn anticipated, the defenders   
diverted all power to the upper shields and weapons, and while the   
station returned fire a wing of TIE Advanced fighters and   
Interceptors attacked the underside. Blaster bolts and missiles   
punctured the weakened shields and destroyed the propulsion   
systems.  
  
The defense platform tipped to one side, drifting, and   
began the slow, burning fall into the atmosphere. Parck had to   
give the platform crew credit, they kept firing until the shields   
gave out and life support system failed, then escape pods jettisoned   
from the hulk of wrecked durasteel.  
  
"Defense platform is out of commission, sir." Commander   
Veenir turned to his superiors. "The gunners have a clear shot at   
the surface."  
  
"You have your orders." Thrawn replied. "Continue   
landing ground troops and engage any enemy unity attempting to   
prevent their landing. Also continue targeting all antiaircraft   
installations."  
  
"Yes sir."  
  
Meanwhile, other orbital platforms were slowly moving in   
to cover the threatened area over the capital, firing their weapons   
and launching wings of fighters. Armed satellites, small but well-  
shielded and equipped with powerful repulsers, moved swiftly   
across the atmosphere. Using a design similar to Thrawn's own   
missile boats, they were capable of catching a fighter with their   
tractor beams, then launching a missile at them. Fortunately there,   
were only a few of the things, most of which were quickly taken   
out by the Star Destroyers.  
  
Aside from the Imperitor, six other Star Destroyers were   
a part of the assault, along with eight smaller strike cruisers. An   
Interdiction cruiser maintained a hyperspace anomaly that kept   
enemy ships from escaping and prevented hostile vessels from   
jumping into the battle. It was all that could be scraped together   
on such short notice, nowhere near enough to conquer a well-  
defended world like Orune Prime, yet they were doing just that.  
  
Despite the Grand Admiral's long-standing record of   
success, Parck had harbored a few doubts about this campaign,   
which had evaporated the instant the small fleet had jumped out of   
hyperspace and the planetary shield had gone down, just as   
Thrawn predicted it would.  
  
"I've had agents on Orune Prime for almost two years,"   
Thrawn had said when Parck pointed out the formidable defenses   
they would be facing, "remnants of the old royalists, and others   
Coerl has oppressed during his rule. Even before we knew about   
the Yuuzhan Vong I had been planning Warlord Coerl's defeat; it   
was the only way to extend the Emperor's control throughout this   
sector. Imperial Intelligence operatives have been contacting   
various groups, training, arming and organizing them, all in   
preparation for our assault." He had grimaced. "Though truthfully   
I had believed the attack on Orune Prime itself would not occur for   
several months. Before we jump into hyperspace I will signal   
them to sabotage the planetary shield and begin an open revolt."  
  
  
And just like Thrawn had planned it, the fleet fell out of   
hyperspace to find Orune Prime naked as a mollusk without a   
shell. More, there were only a handful of capital ships defending   
the planet, vastly outgunned by the Star Destroyers.  
  
"Studying those dead Vong has certainly shown results."   
Parck murmured. "You predicted the defenses we'd run into   
exactly."  
  
The Grand Admiral nodded. "As I said before, I have   
gained some understanding of how Sang Anor thinks. I suspected   
that, seeing Unity Fleet's collapse as imminent, he would expend   
all of Coerl's resources on harrying us to the point of stripping   
defensive ships from around Orune Prime itself. He depended on   
the plagues to keep us on the defensive and Orune Prime's   
planetary shield to protect his figurehead." Thrawn smiled. "He   
was so intent on us, he ignored the cracks in his own fortress'   
walls."  
  
On the viewscreens, damaged TIE and enemy fighters   
spiraled down through the grey, polluted clouds while those pilots   
that could jettisoned from their doomed ships. Orbital platforms   
and satellites were taking heavy damage from the Imperial   
battleships, and the ground forces were making their way to the   
capital. Or rather, the fortified bunker near the capital.  
  
"That's the last of them." Parck said as the final defense   
platform exploded in a brief flash; the void of space drank up the   
artificial atmosphere in the breached station, leaving the fires   
nothing to burn with. The few remaining fighters had been   
mopped up as well, and the satellites were now just so much   
charred scrap. The surprise of the attack the overwhelming   
firepower of the Imperial ships and the disabling of the planetary   
shield had coincided with devastating results to Coerl's forces.   
"The skies are ours."  
  
"Organize the ships in a defensive formation." Thrawn   
ordered. "It's only a matter of time before one of the other worlds   
under Coerl's control discovers the jamming field and alerts their   
fleet." He looked across the bridge to the Imperial ships beyond   
the transparisteel viewports, all the ships that could be gathered on   
such short notice, before Sang Anor could hear of his plagues'   
failure and have Coerl pull back his ships. They would have to be   
enough.  
  
"Hopefully we will be able to hold off any counterattack   
long enough for Beyin to do his part. Coerl is our primary target   
here, his fleet and resources are a tool Sang Anor has used with   
considerable effectiveness. We must take that tool away from   
him."  
  
"Sir," Parck said quietly, "if that's the case, why not just fire   
on the bunker from orbit?"  
  
"It wouldn't work," Thrawn shook his head, "by now, the   
Vong have Coerl tucked safely away underground. They may have   
gotten him out of the bunker altogether, though I doubt that very   
much. Most likely they'll dig themselves in and wait for   
reinforcements." He watched the land battle via transmitions from   
the ground units and the sensor readings from the Imperitor.   
"We would not be certain, and I will not retreat from this world   
until I know that Coerl is either captured or dead." Parck's eyes   
widened.  
  
  
"But your allies revealed themselves when they brought   
down the shield. You told them you were coming to topple Coerl   
and liberate them, if we retreat when Coerl's forces arrive-"  
  
"It can't be helped," came the implacable Chiss voice, "I   
will hold this planet if at all possible, if not, then we leave Orune   
Prime to whichever of Coerl's commanders secedes him. At least   
Sang Anor will no longer control this territory and his position in  
this galaxy will be weakened."  
  
*********************************************  
Imperial AT-AT walkers advanced across the blighted   
plain, their sensors peering through the smog-filled air, searching   
for opposition. Hovering tanks and troop transports moved among   
the walkers' lumbering feet, like squat Jawa children playing   
around a herd of banthas. A vanguard of faster AT-STs scouted   
the way and wings of TIE fighters flew overhead.  
  
From one of the lead walkers, General Beyin scanned the   
terrain and unit reports with the air of calm authority that had   
carried him through a hundred other campaigns. While the   
majority of Chiss troopers in the Empire were fairly young, Beyin's   
black hair and square-cut beard sported several streaks of white,   
and there were fine lines around his glowing red eyes; he had been   
a famous general even before joining the Empire.  
  
FFed up with the politics and scheming of the Chiss rulers, Beyin  
resigned his commission and contacted the Grand Admiral six years ago. His   
defection was a serious blow to the First Families: it was easy for   
them to ignore the outflow of young, low-born males, no matter   
their numbers, but the disappearance of such a celebrated general   
was bound to draw attention to Thrawn's activities.  
"Scout K-14 reporting, sir, no sign of enemy units."   
Pollution in the air tinged the AT-ST pilot's voice with static.  
  
"They're probably massing a few clicks closer to the   
capital." Beyin said. "First wave, increase speed, all others hold   
your pace. J-4, take point." Beyin's mouth twisted slightly, it still   
felt awkward delivering commands in the human tongue.   
Intellectually, he could accept that 'Basic' was the common   
tongue in most of the galaxy, but it still irked that Imperial Chiss   
were expected to conform to at barbarian language.  
  
He had once considered advising Mith'raw'nuruodo to at   
least teach the Chiss language to the humans in his fleet, but the   
thought of his native tongue being mangled in barbarian mouths   
stopped him. Beyin sometimes doubted the Syndic's sanity in   
allying himself with this human Empire: the General had been   
involved in military campaigns against every significant power in   
five sectors, upstart aliens who thought they could carve out a   
piece of Chiss territory, but in those battles he had always led or   
fought beside his fellow Chiss, men he trusted and whose minds   
and motives he understood. To him, the humans were still too   
much of an unknown.  
  
By the Families, I hope these savages don't get in the   
way.  
  
  
As he expected, the capital garrison had turned out to meet   
them about three klicks from the target. A line of tanks stood   
between the Imperials and a well-shielded mobile fortress that had   
hovered out from the capital and settled down in their path.   
Turboblasters and ion cannon bristled on the walls, Beyin didn't   
see any fighters rising to engage the wings of TIEs overhead, but   
several antiaircraft turrets jutted from the walls.  
  
The Walkers were strung out in a long line. The Imperial   
Walkers were impressive and useful pieces of machinery, but   
Beyin knew from experience that it was a bad move to cluster   
them together: if one of them went down, the others could easily   
be blocked or tripped up by them. As per his orders, five walkers   
and their accompanying support tanks increased their speed. They   
would bear the initial brunt of the garrison assault.  
  
Like a pyrotechnics display choreographed by a madman,   
the defenders opened fire. Blaster bolts seared through the smoggy   
air to impact the Imperials. The Walkers staggered at the force of   
the blows, then shrugged them off and pressed on with the charge.  
  
The defenders faced a dilemma: the head and body of a   
Walker are the easiest to hit, but also the most heavily armored.   
By contrast the legs and knee joints are the most vulnerable part of   
the war machines, but very difficult to hit from a distance. If an   
AT-AT was close enough that you could aim accurately at the legs,   
then the Walker was close enough to return fire, and you were   
already dead. The simple panic brought on by seeing an AT-AT   
bearing down like an avalanche of durasteel is enough to rout most   
defenders.  
  
Imperial speeder bikes zipped ahead of the vanguard. Like   
AT-STs, the small, fast units would harass and distract defenders,   
but they also served a more important purpose: to detect land   
mines that might endanger the Walkers. The mines were primitive   
things, but effective, pressure sensitive and only activated by a   
great weight, say a Walker's foot or the repulsors of a hovering   
tank. More advanced machinery was too expensive, especially   
when investing in something designed to blow up, and there were   
too many things that could go wrong with complicated equipment.  
  
Not knowing that the Imperials were coming or from what   
direction, it was doubtful Coerl's forces had time to bury more   
than a few of the explosives barring the Imperials' way, and the   
freshly dug earth would be visible to the speeder pilots even when   
moving at such great velocities.  
  
Of course, no system was perfect, so Beyin reflected as one   
of the Walkers set off a mine. The explosion under the front-left   
foot made the AT-AT stagger, but it seemed the pilot might regain   
his Walker's balance and keep it on all four feet, until the   
garrison's turboblasters targeted the unbalanced machine and   
knocked it on its side. Beyin made a note to himself to reprimand   
the crew of the Walker and the speeder pilot who both missed that   
mine. It would surprise him if all were human.  
  
A blast from one of the garrison's ion cannons splashed   
across a Walker in a wave of energy that scrambled the computer   
systems. The war machine's right-front leg was partly raised in the   
act of taking a step when the hydraulics automatically locked the   
joints and made all the legs rigid. It slumped forward but   
remained upright, at least, even though it couldn't move or shoot.   
As useful as a thousand-ton paperweight.  
  
  
The Imperials were doing some damage as well as being on   
the receiving end. Blaster bolts battered the defenders' energy   
shields and two tanks exploded in a ball of fire and shower of   
charred durasteel.  
  
Beyin bent all his concentration on the battle. He could   
only hope Green Squadron was doing well against the true target   
of this invasion.  
  
****************************************  
As Thrawn had hoped, the capital garrison was devoted to   
stopping the Imperials, leaving Coerl's bunker almost completely   
undefended. At least by conventional weaponry. Green Squadron   
located and destroyed every automated defense blocking the   
and a few troop transports Before resuming their primary   
mission: strafing the bunker.  
  
Their twin ion engines screaming, the TIEs circled back.   
The bunker was a squat, ugly shape perched on a rocky hill some   
distance from the city. Outwardly austere and utilitarian, it gave   
no evidence of the luxurious interior Coerl was known to prefer.   
There were scores along the walls and top of the structure: the   
energy shield that should have protected it had been disabled by   
the Yuuzhan Vong along with everything else technological in   
their reach. Another volley of blaster bolts streaked down, bent   
and vanished before touching the durasteel walls.  
  
"What the fragg-!" One pilot exclaimed. "The bolts just   
winked out!"  
  
"Initiate secondary attack plan." The squadron leader   
snapped. Everything was going according to the Grand Admiral's   
plan: he'd hoped to force the Vong to utilize their dovin basals   
before the ground forces moved in. "Low-power blasts, tire them   
out." The TIEs made three more passes over the bunker, attacking   
with weak but plentiful blaster bolts. On the second pass a few got   
through, on the third pass most of the bolts splashed against the   
hull.  
  
"They're weak, weapons to full power."  
  
"Green Squadron, this is Captain Parck," transmitted by   
radio waves because of the jamming field around the planet, the   
captain's voice was scratchy but recognizable, "the Admiral's   
analyzed their defense pattern, target these areas.? Three points on   
the bunker diagram in the targeting computer turned red. "The   
dovin basals are stationed there."  
  
"Aye, sir. Green Two, Green Five, take the first target.   
Four and Six, the far side. Three, we'll get the center."  
  
"Understood." The perfectly pronounced Basic of the Chiss   
pilot responded as Green Three's Interceptor angled to keep pace   
with the squadron leader's Advanced. Green One had kept two of   
his missile back for just this occasion, now he launched them both.   
The missiles flew, trailing white smoke that looked oddly clean   
compared to the filthy smog, they impacted and gouts of fire and   
force tore into the wall, killing the dovin basal sheltered behind.  
  
Two similar explosions followed. "The way?s clear."   
Green One sent to the carrier.  
  
******************************************  
Stormtroopers exited the carrier in the quick-but-orderly   
way characteristic of the Empire's top infantry. Facing the rent   
fortress, they waited for whatever the Vong would try.  
  
The bunker was silent.  
  
"They're not coming out to meet us." The officer said, the   
black glass of his helmet hid the glow from his red eyes. "Turn on   
your helmet cams, the Admiral wants records of this. We're going   
in. Check your weapons and remember the orders: get in, get   
Coerl, get out." They were to take Coerl alive if possible, dead if   
necessary, but not to leave without the Warlord in tow. Ignoring   
the noise and flashes of light from the battle, they filed up the hill   
and into the bunker.  
  
"We're in," he said to the transport pilot via his comm link,   
"no hostiles in sight." But gods of space, look at what is! what   
they saw of the interior was wrecked, but in far more detail than   
the strafing runs might have accounted for. Everything remotely   
technological, down to the smallest device, had been smashed to   
its component bits and the wreckage left to gather dust. Computer   
screens had been smashed, holopads taken apart, every   
conceivable modern convenience and device was utterly wrecked.   
Even the wall jacks and plug-in sockets had been torn out and the   
wiring pulled from the walls.  
  
More amazing than the destruction, though, was what had   
replaced the technology. The stormtroopers saw large tubes of   
black coral that had apparently jutted up through the floors in spots   
where garbage pales or waste incinerators would be placed. The   
central heating and cooling systems were doubtless scrapped too,   
but fungus-like growths on the walls seemed to expel warmth into   
the chilly air. It took the Imperials a moment to realize the plants   
were also cleaning and processing the polluted air let in through   
the holes they had made in the exterior. What looked like veins of   
some armored substance traced the walls, taking nutrients to the   
organic devices? Carrying away waste?  
  
The glowpanels set into the ceiling were broken, but there   
was light: thousands of winged insects flew near and landed on the   
ceiling. Their rounded bodies glowed bright. Lumin bugs, they   
had short lifespans and reproduced rapidly. There was no problem   
with feeding them or sweeping up the corpses of dead bugs: with   
the typical, frightening efficiency of Yuuzhan Vong creatures the   
old and slow were devoured by the newborn.  
  
Aside from cannibalizing each other, the insects got their   
sustenance from a carpet of thin, fuzzy moss that covered the   
ceiling. The Imperials could glimpse the cracked glowpanels   
through the moss and the glowing bugs. Barely.  
  
The greatest astonishment was that the sliding doors had   
been replaced by odd orifices which looked as though they could   
open and close like irises, all of which were closed and sealed.  
  
"Looks tough." A stormtrooper rapped the 'door' with an   
armored hand.  
  
"Let's see how it likes blasterfire." A trooper aimed.  
  
"No!" The officer said, but the Imperial had already fired.   
The energy bolt struck the seal and ricocheted. The troopers half-  
ducked as the bolt struck the ceiling in a startled cloud of lumin   
bugs.  
  
"Nice shooting, soldier." The officer put an edge in his   
voice. "I hope the Grand Admiral appreciates the marksmanship."   
A not-so-subtle reminder that Thrawn would be viewing their   
every action when they turned in the datacards in their helmet   
cams. The stormtrooper looked ready to sink into the floor.   
"Sniffer, get a reading on this thing."  
  
The Imperials parted as a scanner droid that hovered past   
and stopped at the barrier. It extended an arm and probed with its   
sensors. The 'door' was a hard, chitinous substance secured to the   
frame by some sort of hardened gel. The droid studied the door   
first, then the frame, and reported its findings to the officer.  
  
"Dense, but not too thick. Two packs should do it." He   
gestured to a trooper, who secured two thermal grenades to the   
door with a quick-acting adhesive. The Imperials took cover and   
activated the explosives.  
  
The blast shattered the door and took some of the frame   
with it, and the way was cleared.  
  
The compound was big, so they split into two groups and   
set off in different directions. According to the plans for this type   
of structure the royalists had provided, they should be able to   
sweep this level and meet at the opposite side quickly using this   
strategy. Thrawn doubted that Coerl would be on the first level,   
but if he was then they would find him.  
  
Moving with surprising lightness, the armored men   
methodically moved down the hallways. Occasionally they came   
across a door either blocking their way or leading to a side room,   
all of which were blocked with the same kind of living seal. They   
had to plant their explosives and backtrack to wait for the blast   
before proceeding. The Imperials had penetrated some ways into   
the bunker and were alert for any sign of ambush, but so far all was   
quiet, no sign of enemy activity.  
  
Group One had reached the end of a hallway and was   
preparing to blast through the doorway blocking them when three   
high, piercing whistles sounded. The sounds came from no   
discernable direction, and the Imperials had no time to wonder   
what it meant: on the third whistle all the lumin bugs winked out   
and the bunker was black as the void.  
  
"Night vision, now!" The humans began activating the   
special sensors build into their helmets and the darkness resolved   
into black shapes lit by a green background. The Chiss didn't   
bother: their eyes provided sight in total darkness that was about   
equal to that of the night vision sensors.  
  
  
The officer was about to contact the second group via his   
comm-link when he heard a low buzz behind him. He turned   
his head just in time to hear the stormtrooper's brief, gurgling   
shriek, quickly uttered and quickly cut off.  
  
It was one of the soldiers in the rear: he jerked, stumbled   
forward and dropped to his knees.  
  
"There! I saw something!" A trooper fired down the   
corridor they had come from, where a dark figure could be   
glimpsed ducking back around the corner. Other stormtroopers   
were turning and shoot. The injured trooper, still on his knees, had   
dropped his blaster rifle as he frantically tried to reach behind his   
back, then fell forward, dead. A discus-shaped insect with razor-  
sharp sides was wiggling out of the incision it had made in the   
man's armored back.  
  
Lips twisted in disgust, the officer shot the razorbug.  
  
"Get him!" The stormtroopers began running back down   
the corridor, and alarm bells went off in the officer's head.   
Something was wrong here, either the thrower was trying to lure   
them into a trap, or...  
  
He spun back around, eyes widening, to the door. So fast   
he could have missed it by blinking, the barrier irised open and a   
dark figure bounded into the hallway.  
  
"Troopers, turn and fire!" He barked. The officer glimpsed   
black armor with silver trim, a staff spinning in its hands, he raised   
his blaster rifle but the amphistaff's tail struck the barrel, knocking   
it to the right so the blaster bolt struck the corridor wall. The   
Yuuzhan Vong followed that move with a side-kick to the officer's   
stomach that knocked him onto his back. It felt like a battering   
ram even through the armor.  
  
The stormtroopers were turning back around, trying to get   
their bearing in the darkness. The Vong warrior charged them,   
amphistaff whirling. Meanwhile the narrow door to an unnoticed   
supply closet in the left wall of the corridor swung open and   
another Yuuzhan Vong seemed to unfold out into the hall from the   
tiny space: even cleared of the cleaning droid and its supplies it   
couldn't have been more than a half-step deep. The amphistaff   
around his arm uncoiled and stiffened as he plunged into the   
Imperials from the side and the sniper Vong at the end of the   
hallway jumped back around the corner and hurled another   
razorbug at the stormtroopers.  
  
******************************************  
Group Two had already set their charges on a door   
blocking their way and found cover when the lights winked out.   
The officer commanding the second team ordered his men to   
activate their night vision sensors. He automatically reached for   
his comm-link and tried to talk to the first team. He got shouts,   
grunts and the sound of blasterfire as a response, then the   
explosives cleared the way.  
  
  
The officer faced a decision he had only seconds to make:   
there could be Vong in the room they had just opened, if the   
stormtroopers hurried to reinforce their comrades without clearing   
that room first they risked attacks and ambush from behind. For   
all he knew, the attack on Group One could be a diversion with   
just this purpose in mind.  
  
"Blast," he murmured and signaled the stromtroopers to   
rush into the newly-opened room.  
  
It was awkward, charging with only night vision to go on,   
some of the troopers almost tripped on the dead alien matter that   
had been scattered in the blast, but they all made it.  
  
They piled into the room and spread out, blasters trained in   
every direction. There was, apparently, no one there, but the room   
itself was more than enough to keep their attention.  
  
The space was large, circular, big enough to be a   
conference room of some kind, judging by the excellent acoustics.   
Whatever the original purpose was, the Vong had converted it into   
some kind of temple. The Imperials had no need of their night   
vision sensors here: the place had its own light source, globular   
membranes filled with some sort of lighter-than-air gas glowed   
with a ghostly light drifted around the perimeter of the room,   
casting strange patterns of light and shadow.  
  
The walls, floor and ceiling had been completely coated   
with corral. The substance was covered with carvings: alien   
symbols, designs and pictures which might be writing, and the   
etchings themselves glowed softly. There were also four statues in   
the room, at opposing sides. They were built to human scale, but   
of larger dimensions. A massive, hideous thing, all spikes, fangs   
and claws. A tall, vaguely feminine shape, but with no clear   
features. A hunched, grotesque thing that actually seemed to be   
shying away from the light had its visage turned to the floor.  
  
The biggest statue, a solemn expression on what remained   
of its face, actually looked dismembered and partially eviscerated.  
  
The strangest thing was the alter in the room's center,   
where what looked like a rack was set up.   
  
The officer was the first to break the spell this alien place   
had cast on them. "Spread out and check this place, and make sure   
your helmet cams get a good look at those carvings, the Admiral   
will want to study them."  
  
One of the stormtroopers approached the picked-apart   
statue and prodded it with his blaster. "Ugly scragger, isn't it." He   
said.  
  
"I don't know," another chuckled, "hook some prosthetics   
limbs on him, maybe cover him with synthaflesh, he might be   
presentable."  
  
"Can say that ag-Ahh!" He shrieked as a glob of blorash   
jelly released its hold on the ceiling and dropped on his head. The   
trooper stumbled back, dropped his blaster and grabbed at the   
jelly, which quickly coated his entire upper body.  
  
"What's that stuff on him?"  
  
"Sithspawn!" A stormtrooper gasped. The goo was cutting   
off his comrade's airflow, he heard the muffled screams under the   
jelly. The jellied trooper was running, struck by blind panic. He   
ran into a wall and staggered, almost fell. Another stormtrooper   
approached him, reached out his hand in a desire to help.  
  
"Stop! Get away from him!" The officer shouted, but it   
was too late. Tendrils of jelly shot out, stuck to the trooper's arms   
and head and pulled him and the other Imperial together. Now,   
both their heads and torsos coated with living jelly, they struggled   
with the blorash jelly and each other and tried to run in two   
directions at once.  
  
"Get back! Get back!" Another stormtrooper shouted in   
terror as the two jelly-covered Imperials stumbled towards him,   
the Vong creature extending more tendrils toward him. He   
stepped back, raised his blaster.  
  
"No! Stun them!" The officer snapped. The stormtrooper   
was well-trained enough to pause the half-second necessary to   
switch settings before shooting. Blue arcs of energy covered the   
troopers and their assailant. They both dropped to the floor, but   
the jelly stretched out toward him with terrifying, fluid speed. It   
struck, splattered and stuck to his chestplate, the hauled the rest of   
itself up onto him, putting the stormtrooper in the same position   
his stunned fellows had been in.  
  
"Weapons to stun! Get-" The officer was interrupted when   
the Yuuzhan Vong warrior lying full-length on the ceiling   
unhooked his feet from the corral and swung down, kicking the   
officer hard in the chest. As he fell back the Vong twisted his   
lower body, legs shooting out in opposite directions, and knocking   
two other Imperials to the floor before releasing his handholds and   
dropping down into a defensive crouch.  
  
"Do-ro'ik vong pratte!" He howled and seized the   
amphistaff around his waist, whipped it out and knocked the legs   
out from under another stormtrooper. He leaped over the Imperial,   
staff whirling. "Defilers!" He roared in Basic.  
  
Blasterfire was everywhere, some bolts struck the walls and   
statues, a few struck the alien and were deflected by his armor. A   
stormtrooper rushed the warrior, but the Vong ducked and hit the   
Imperial's back with his amphistaff. He stumbled into the alter,   
where two long arms unfolded from the rack, reached for him,   
grabbed his wrists, pulled.  
  
The officer was getting to his feet when the scream made   
him turn toward the Embrace of Pain. He took one look and   
quickly turned his head away. In Imperial space, he had often   
heard Wookies threaten to tear someone arms out of their sockets,   
but until now he had never seen it done..  
  
********************************************  
"We've got control of the first level." The voice crackled   
over the comm board in the AT-AT. "But we've lost eight men   
and three others are wounded."  
  
Beyin bit off a curse as blasterfire rocked the AT-AT.   
"How many hostiles?"  
  
"We engaged four, took out three. One got away, we think   
to the next level down." A pause. "If there'd been any more, they   
would've wiped us out."  
  
Beyin scanned the battle. Another enemy tank had just   
been blown up and the Imperials were flanking their adversaries,   
but the remainder of the defenders were clustered together, blaster   
cannons bristling in all directions.  
  
"I'm sending another troop transport, hold the first floor   
and wait."  
  
********************************************  
"Is it ready?"  
  
"Yes, the air is saturated." The warrior glanced down at the   
bulbous creature, glued to the floor by its own mucus, then up at   
the ceiling. His eyes narrowed behind the mask. "The infidels are   
defiling the temple." The undercurrent of rage was clear in his   
voice.  
  
"We will cleanse them soon enough. With fire. Go down   
to the lower levels. I will wait for them and spring the trap." He   
turned to the doorway. Like all the passages on this floor, it was   
wide open to better circulate the treated air. The other Vong   
stopped him with a clawed gauntlet.  
  
"You go to the lower levels, let me stay." He was the only   
one of the warriors who had not yet engaged the infidels. The trap   
they had set here might delay the Imperials until the Warlord's   
fleet arrived and drove the Star Destroyers out, in which case he   
would get no chance to fight at all. Remaining to trigger this trap,   
though, that would be a great escalation.  
  
"You?re sure of this?" The other asked with some   
reluctance.  
  
"If one of us fails, the other will be all that stands between   
the infidels and Kei Rascer." The Vong pressed. "We both know   
you are the better warrior."  
  
"So be it then." The two warriors clasped forearms. "Give   
the gods my greetings when you see them, little brother, and bring   
them many infidel lives." He struck his shoulders with opposite   
fists and left for the stairwell.  
  
**********************************************  
The freshly-reinforced party of Imperials stormed through   
the stairwell door and into the sublevel. Any mechanized alarms   
or check points that might have barred their way had been long   
since trashed and the biological devices of the Yuuzhan Vong   
made no effort to stop them.  
  
"No opposition so far," the officer used his comm link to   
speak to the stormtroopers who remained on the ground floor, "in   
fact it looks too easy, over." By the light from the lumin bugs, he   
could see all the living doorways around them were open.  
  
"Proceed, do a quick search and head down to the next   
level." They left five troopers to guard the stairwell while the rest   
began their search.  
  
The Imperials suspected that Coerl was on the lowest level,   
but no single stairwell extended more than one level down, after   
which one had to cross the entire level to reach the next stairwell.   
The turbolifts, even if they still existed, wouldn't be much better:   
the lifts were all code-activated and a single missed keystroke   
could result in lethal traps. Coerl had always been a maniac about   
his personal security, as well as other things.  
  
They couldn't even scale down the empty shafts: the Vong   
had used them as garbage chutes for the technical devices they   
removed and scrapped. Genetically engineer alien bacteria was   
breaking the down the plastic and durasteel into a kind of feed that   
fueled their organic devices.  
  
"Careful," the officer led them, single-file, through a   
doorway, "the right command and this door could snap shut." And   
cut someone in half at the threshold, armor or no. They hurried   
through.  
  
"Something stinks," a Chiss trooper said.  
  
"Yeah," another answered, "this is suspicious-"  
  
"No, I mean something stinks!" The Imperial heard   
sniffing beneath the other?s helmet. "Can't you smell it?"  
  
"What?s wrong?" A human trooper smirked. "This place   
offend your delicate olfactories? Maybe you should've brought   
perfume-"  
  
"Shut up," the human flared his nostrils and tried to smell   
beyond the sweat-and-plastic interior of his helmet. Now that the   
Chiss had mentioned it, he did detect something odd in the air.   
Sharp, sulphurous... "Sir-"  
  
"Way ahead of you." The officer signaled for them to stop.   
"Helmets off." He pulled his own headgear free.  
  
With their faces directly exposed to the air, the   
contaminant stung their nostrils like ammonia. "Sniffer, what do   
you make of this?"  
  
The droid extended a sensor. "There is a vaporous agent in   
the airflow, Master." It responded. "Unfamiliar reading, but initial   
analysis suggests it is highly combustible." The officer felt a chill   
creeping along his back.  
  
"Did you get that? Over." He spoke into his helmet.  
  
"Affirmative." The comm link replied. "Withdraw, no   
shooting, ov-"  
  
"Do-ro'ik vong pratte!" A Yuuzhan Vong appeared at the   
end of the hallway. Small, spherical thud bugs shot down the hall   
and knocked three troopers to the floor. The speed and density of   
the small creatures was enough to puncture the troopers? armor.   
One of the Imperials raised his blaster rifle, took aim...  
  
"No!" The officer exclaimed, too late. The energy bolt   
streaked towards the Vong, igniting the air as it flew, and the air   
became fire.  
  
It took less than a second for the airborne agent mixed with   
the oxygen to completely burn itself out, but during that time the   
atmosphere of the sublevel was like the outer layer of a sun.   
Durasteel walls, Vong creatures, people, melted and ran together.   
On the upper level the floor buckled under the Imperials? feet and   
huge gulps of air were sucked down the stairwell, to fill the void   
made by the oxygen burnout that fueled that burst of heat. A   
stormtrooper was stationed near the upper stairs and the gust   
knocked him off his feet, dragged him to the doorway and nearly   
broke his neck.  
  
"Sithspawn." The officer managed to say. His voice was   
very small and he gazed at the disfigured floor with wide eyes.  
  
*********************************************  
"The capital garrison has surrendered and the royalists have   
control of the city." The life-sized image of General Beyin   
appeared in the bridge and reported to the Grand Admiral. "The   
diversion tactic was a success." The holographic view expanded to   
show a three- dimensional field depicting the battlefield. Jrukto   
troops, wearing breathing masks in the smoggy air, were climbing   
out of their wrecked war machines, throwing down their weapons   
and raising their hands. Stormtroopers, their armor blue in the   
hologram's light, herded the prisoners into a large group near one   
of the downed AT-ATs.  
  
Thrawn nodded, exactly as he had planned it: while the city   
garrison was busy engaging the Imperials, the native royalists and   
the Imperial Intelligence team supporting them had seized the city   
commanders and forced them to issue surrender orders.  
  
A good plan, but not one the Grand Admiral could honestly   
take credit for: during his time with the Empire proper, he had   
made a detailed study of military history. He had borrowed this   
particular battle plan from Naboo's defeat of the Trade Federation   
more than forty years ago. He had modified it slightly from what   
he'd read in Palpatine's records, of course: Queen Amidala's plan   
to retake her homeworld had been so desperate it was beyond   
believable, which was the essence of its success.  
  
I would have enjoyed meeting such a remarkable female.   
A pity. The Admiral felt little satisfaction from this victory: it   
was still incomplete.  
  
"And the bunker?" Thrawn asked, though he could already   
guess the answer before Beyin reappeared and continued.  
  
"We've taken the first floor, but the Vong have kept us out   
of the sublevels. I've already lost over a company in that   
deathtrap. I'm taking another company up there right now, sir."   
The elder Chiss was as crisp and proper as Thrawn remembered   
from his training on Homeworld. The general was the most   
demanding taskmaster he had ever known, a nightmare for any of   
the young Syndics-to-be lucky enough to be put under his   
command. It was impossible for any of them to please General   
Beyin, but Thrawn had come the closest.  
  
It had been a most unexpected surprise when the general   
had decided to resign his rank on Homeworld and join Unity Fleet,   
and it still felt awkward giving his former teacher orders. It was   
even more of a shock to realize he now understood Beyin better   
than the general understood himself. His belief in the innate   
superiority of the Chiss over all other beings, for instance, was the   
key to his personality. It was also a weakness Thrawn would not   
tolerate in any of his underlings, even Beyin.  
  
"Very well, general, but one thing," Thrawn held up his   
hand, "the company will consist of humans and Chiss mixed in   
equal numbers." Beyin's face did not change, but his eyes   
brightened several shades, confirming Thrawn's suspicion that he   
would have taken only Chiss stormtroopers if he could.  
  
"Yes, Admiral. Beyin out." The hologram vanished.  
  
Captain Parck took the opportunity to approach his   
superior. "The TIE fighters report no enemy activity in the system,   
and the escape pods, friendly and hostile, have all been gathered   
in."  
  
"Have the fleet take up defensive positions around the   
planet. I anticipate a counterattack by Coerl's fleet very soon, we   
need to buy Beyin time to capture the Warlord."  
  
"Yes sir." He turned away, paused, then turned back. "Sir,   
may I speak freely?"  
  
"Always, Captain."  
  
"Sir, why the preoccupation with Coerl? As I see it, we   
should be more concerned with taking out opposition and holding   
his capital world."  
  
Thrawn scanned the skies above the planet while he spoke.   
"Even if we hold Orune Prime, Captain, it means nothing without   
Coerl in custody or a confirmation of his death. That bunker   
probably has several hidden escape routes, but right now the   
remaining Vong handlers are holding him in the there, I'm certain   
of it, because they're hoping his fleet with drive us out. If the   
outcome is not in their favor, then they will retreat.  
  
  
"If they escape with Coerl they will try and get him   
offplanet and use him to rally his remaining forces, and Sang Anor   
will retain his influence. The purpose of this attack was to   
deprive the Executor of Coerl's territory and resources, but I   
cannot as long as he is alive and in Vong control.  
  
"Even if the Warlord doesn't make it off Orune Prime, the   
Yuuzhan Vong could still manage to retain control with a   
facsimile: perhaps they have a form of cloning, or they could use   
an impersonator with a new kind of masquer. We need Coerl   
captive or proof of his death to present his commanders with: it   
will prevent them from uniting behind a Vong imposter."  
  
Below, the smog swirled in a windblown dance. For a brief   
second, Thrawn could make out the bright lights of a smog-  
shrouded city. Then the tide of tainted air covered the patch of   
bright with shadow.  
  
************************************************  
Beyin was a traditionalist in every sense of the word. As   
such, he gave the appearance of complete confidence in both the   
decisions of his superiors and the ability of his subordinates,   
though he was having his doubts about both. Mith'raw'nuruodo   
had always been clever: he had seen through Beyin instantly and   
prevented the general from using an exclusively Chiss team to raid   
the bunker. Now he had to worry about these undisciplined   
savages bumbling through this important mission.  
  
But the Syndic had given his orders, and Beyin obeyed   
without question, as he hadn't questioned the attack on this planet:   
a dishonorable pre-emptive strike that stung his Chiss pride.  
  
Honor, pride, obedience, these were lessons drilled into   
Beyin's very soul during officer's training. He was of noble blood,   
of course, if only that of a poor and very minor House, else the   
upper echelons of command would have been as far beyond him as   
the other side of the galaxy. His time in the battlefields had taught   
him that a soldier's merit had nothing to do with who his ancestors   
were, though. Seeing disciplined and dedicated Chiss soldiers   
placed under the command of officers chosen more for their   
breeding than their brains, nobles who would waste many good   
lives to make a victory more costly and thus more impressive, had   
driven him to the Empire, but he never considered abandoning his   
training. If your commander gave an order, you followed it, and   
that was all.  
  
In spite of himself, he felt a flash of pride at serving the   
Grand Admiral. Thrawn had become the best of the Syndics in   
every way, and Beyin had a hand in that. Oh, he had kept Beyin on   
his toes as a trainee: he was always so willful, so confident in his   
ideas, unnerving because he was so often right. But in this   
instance he was wrong.  
  
He was wrong to have anything to do with these humans   
and their Emperor in the first place! He could have fought the   
High Families, could have refused their sentence of exile. He had   
a strong phalanx and the support of several other Houses. Thrawn   
could have stayed and tried to reform the system, could have...  
  
  
He could have plunged the Chiss into civil war, and we   
would have destroyed ourselves as no outside aggressor could   
have. Beyin ground his teeth. Thrawn had taken the long view,   
seen what would result from defying the High Families and so had   
accepted the exile. The Families had gloated, smug in their   
victory, and forgot all about the Syndic. Until he returned   
commanding an alien fleet. Now the word was spreading:   
Mith'raw'nuruodo was making headway against the enemies of the   
Chiss, he didn't waste his soldiers and bloodlines wasn't a   
consideration among the prospective officers.  
  
But it still isn't right! Beyin thought fiercely. The   
Chiss are the greatest race in the galaxy, we shouldn't serve an   
alien Emperor!  
  
He let those threads of old anger trail away as he studied   
the bunker interior. This was Beyin's first direct encounter with   
the biotechnology of these strange, new enemies Thrawn had   
called 'Yuuzhan Vong,' and what he saw he found repulsive. This,   
combined with the wanton vandalism they'd committed on the   
mechanized devices gave Beyin a low and distasteful opinion of   
the so-called extragalactics.  
  
Clearly he was dealing with barbarians, but the general   
wasn't fool enough to underestimate his opponents. He knew what   
had happened to his advance parties, about the conflagration on   
the first sublevel. And he knew from experience how dangerous   
the savages of any race can be: not only were they violent and   
brutish, they were highly deceitful as well, not being bound by the   
honor and standards of behavior the Chiss were.  
  
On entering the secured first floor of the dark bunker,   
Beyin and his team tried to use their glowrods to splash the walls   
with directed beams of light. That was something else the general   
held against his human troops: he and the other Chiss had no   
trouble at all with the lack of light.  
  
As soon as the glowrods were activated the dormant lumin   
bugs clinging to the ceiling came to life and swarmed the light   
source, each one of the thousands seeming to vie with all others for   
brightness until it seemed there was a small sun in the room.  
  
"Blasted things!" A trooper squeezed his eyes shut. "I've   
got the eyepiece tint on maximum and I still can't see!" He   
windmilled his arms in an attempt to swat the glowing insects.  
  
Beyin had to agree, not even Chiss could tolerate the   
blinding light. "Shut off the glowrods." He ordered. He kept his   
voice calm, didn't bark or snap the command: no Chiss noble, and   
certainly not an officer of the higher echelons, would ever under   
any circumstance allow emotion to color his tone. That was one of   
the first lessons he'd learned in his military training.  
  
Once the glowrods were doused, the lumin bugs winked   
out and drifted back to the ceiling. "Why'd they do that?" A   
trooper asked himself. "And why'd they stop."  
  
  
"The mating drive." Beyin chose to answer. "It proved   
stronger than Vongs' command to stay dormant. With most   
luminescent insects, the purpose of the glow is to attract and signal   
mates. They recognized the light from the glowrods as a mating   
invitation. Humans, switch to night vision." He hit the switch on   
his helmet's interior with his chin. Beyin wore the armor of an   
anonymous stormtrooper, with no outward sign of his true rank.   
Warfare had taught him many things, including one truism:   
enemies will always target the officers first. But unlike the Chiss,   
other races often had no reluctance to use pre-emptive strikes or   
snipers.  
  
Beyin heard his troopers' reports as he toured the first floor.   
The troopers spoke via helmet com links, so that any organic   
surveillance creatures would be unable to tell who was giving the   
orders. After checking the blocked elevator shafts and the   
stairwell, shattered by the sublevel explosion, he returned to a   
secured room where a portable holopad and projector had been set   
up. Almost on cue, a life-sized hologram of the Grand Admiral   
materialized before him.  
  
"Your analysis, general?" Thrawn asked without preamble.  
  
"Intelligence claims there are five sublevels. My guess:   
Coerl is on the lowest level. We'll have to proceed with caution, I   
believe all the Vong in the bunker are dead by now aside from the   
whoever's with the Warlord, but the rest of the bunker is sure to be   
booby-trapped."  
  
"There is no time." Thrawn countered. "Enemy vessels   
have been detected at the edge of the interdiction field, a   
counterattack is imminent."  
  
"There is no direct way to the lowest sublevel."  
  
Thrawn made to speak, then stopped, frowning. "I think   
we've overlooked something."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Coerl designed this bunker himself. He would want to be   
able to get to the lowest level quickly in case of a surprise assault   
like this one. He would have a private elevator installed, running   
directly to the bottom."  
  
"But the Vong would have destroyed it along with all the   
other technology they found here."  
  
"No, they would keep it operational for the same purpose:   
to quickly get Coerl to safety."  
  
"I'll order a search, but it's a long shot."  
  
"Look in or around Coerl's personal quarters." Thrawn   
glanced at something outside the hologram?s visual field. "More   
enemy vessels have entered realspace. Time is of the essence."   
The hologram vanished.  
  
  
The sensor droids scoured the rooms and halls near the   
Warlord's quarters and quickly located the hidden door. Beyin and   
a squad of stormtroopers were there in moments.  
  
"I've found the controls." A stormtrooper pointed to a   
toggle that had been concealed by a compartment in the wall.   
"They aren't responding."  
  
Beyin nodded. "Force open the door, but be cautious: the   
Vong may have set traps." He turned away just as the section of   
wall was slid aside from behind, he saw a blurred shape out of the   
corner of his eye and a second later he felt the shock of impact on   
his back and the floor was rushing up at him.  
  
The general rolled onto his back as he hit the floor, hand   
reaching for his blaster pistol. Surprise and anger flared to life as   
he brought the blaster up, only to drown in a flood of raw terror as   
a massive claw reached out of the wall and seized the stormtrooper   
who had shoved him out of the way.  
  
The claw closed on the man's shoulder and cracked the   
stormtrooper armor like eggshell. Blood spurted from the wound   
as the monstrosity pulled its catch into a tooth-filled maw.  
  
Beyin's eyes were bulging and bright behind helmet. The   
Vong creature filled the portal, probably filled the entire elevator   
shaft beyond. Mandibles long as a human's arm shoved the   
struggling stormtrooper into the maw while two claws and   
numerous armored legs gripped the edge of the door and began   
pulling the bulky shape into the hall. Beyin's blaster was trained   
on the thing, but he couldn't squeeze the trigger, couldn't move,   
couldn't think. For the first time, since his first experience in real   
combat a lifetime ago, he froze. The general was accustomed to   
fighting, but this thing of scuttling legs and grasping claws with its   
clusters of tiny, senseless eyes was something out a sentient's   
nightmares.  
  
The sound of a blaster firing and the flash of a bolt   
impacting the thing's shell snapped him back to reality.   
Instinctively he adjusted his aim so not to hit the struggling,   
screaming stormtrooper and fired as he tried to get his feet under   
him, scrambling backward to avoid the long, snapping claws.  
  
The other stromtroopers were moving back, but some   
didn't move fast enough, so Beyin observed as a claw shot out and   
gripped a stromtrooper's middle, snapped the Imperial's spine and   
hurled him into the wall. For the first time in his life Beyin envied   
the humans, who lacked the visual ability of the Chiss and so could   
only see dark shapes against a green background with their night   
vision sensors instead of being subjected every gorey detail.  
  
Blasterfire pelted the crustation from either side but did no   
more than scorch its shell. So far the main body of troops were out   
of reach; the Vong creature was only halfway out of the shaft and   
seemed to be stuck, its makers had probably put it there when it   
was younger and smaller and let it grow. Beyin's tactical mind   
quickly noted that the beast was slowly inching through, the   
blasterfire was doing little damage, and if it got loose in the   
corridor he and his men would be so much hash on the walls.  
  
  
Beyin noticed something more as well: while one of the   
claws had dug into the durasteel floor for purchase and was   
straining to pull the creature's bulk free, the other was raised,   
shield like, across its 'face' where the stormtrooper, screaming and   
struggling in blind panic, was still held.  
  
"The eyes!" The discipline of the Chiss officers kept panic   
from Beyin's voice and turned it into the whip-crack of authority.   
"Shoot the eyes!"  
  
Blasterfire was shifted to rain on the eye clusters. Most of   
the bolts splashed the claw but a few found their mark. Beyin's   
superior vision treated him to the disgusting sight of several tiny   
black eyes popping like pus-filled pimples.  
  
The creature emitted a high scream and swung its claws   
wildly at the Imperials, but they were out of reach and it could   
hardly see them because of the stormtrooper still gripped by its   
mandibles, obscuring its vision. The beast had limited   
intelligence, and was starting to realize taking hold of the   
stormtrooper might not have been a good move on its part. It had   
the idea of taking a few bites as it emerged from the burrow-space   
its masters had given him, but its mandibles and maw weren't   
strong enough to break through the enemy's white shell. The   
trooper certainly wouldn't fit in its maw whole.  
  
Its claws were powerful enough to crack that shell, it knew   
that already, but it didn't have the dexterity or range of movement   
to touch its own face. Too bad: when it got free, it would have to   
crack them like shellfish instead of eating them live, like it   
preferred.  
  
It swung a claw at the enemies while hooking some legs on   
the doorframe and continued working its way out, careful to it   
would work its way free. It was more cautious now: these   
creatures were small and weak, but they had stingers as well as   
shells, flashes of light has already destroyed some of its eyes.   
True, they would grow back in a few days, but the pain of the   
wounds were unbearable. The struggling one in its maw wasn't   
helping matters either, especially when one of its flailing limbs   
struck the creature's wound, signaling a fresh wave of agony. That   
was enough, it released the stormtrooper and flung it away with its   
mandibles.  
  
That was a mistake. Beyin saw the creature 'spit' the   
trooper out, revealing the open maw, a clear path the to the   
vulnerable parts inside the armor. He unhooked a small thermal   
detonator from his belt, armed it and signaled a sensor droid.   
After some quick instructions the droid hovered forward, past the   
shooters and into the creature's reach. When it snapped the droid   
up in its free claw and began to crush it, Beyin cocked back his   
arm, took aim and threw.  
  
The explosive shot into the maw and the beast reflexively   
swallowed. Beyin ducked to the floor. A second later there was a   
muffled boom and the entire 'face' exploded outward in a flood   
of gore. The reflex-clench of the thing's claw cut the droid in half.  
  
Beyin rolled over, wincing, he would feel this in the   
morning: he kept himself in excellent shape, but he just wasn't as   
spry as the younger men. He looked at the monster plugging up   
the doorway first, to make certain it was dead. A glance told him   
that was beyond question. His next thought was for the trooper it   
had spit out.  
  
"Check that man." He ordered, then took in the rest of his   
troops. "Any injuries?" The stormtroopers were clearly shaken,   
but the general's command of the situation helped bolster their   
spirits. Good, he needed to maintain an image of control, to keep   
their confidence up. They quickly took stock of themselves and   
reported a negative.  
  
Beyin nodded, turned back to the fallen trooper, and his   
glowing eyes went wide with shock. He was glad the helmet hid   
his face, this surprise had shaken his calm visage for an instant.   
They had gotten the man's helmet off and Beyin could plainly see   
that the trooper who had, without hesitation, pushed him out of the   
beast's reach at the risk of his own life, was human.  
  
"How is he?" He asked when he found his voice. He was   
relieved to hear how level it was.  
  
"Lost a lot of blood, sir." The trooper kneeling over him   
said. "Gone into shock too. Good news is the armor protected him   
from the worst of it. Got a broken arm, collarbone and maybe a   
couple ribs."  
  
Beyin nodded, observing the trooper's white, senseless   
face. "Get him out of hear as soon as possible. The rest of you,"   
he glanced at the dead monster, "clear the doorway."  
  
It was difficult, pulling the creature out of the passage: the   
stormtroopers hooked their arms around claws and legs, a few   
braced themselves against the wall and pushed with their legs.   
There was muffled cursing and some slipped in the newly-messed   
floor, but the dead weight was dislodged.  
  
Now that it was outside the corridor, Beyin could see the   
creature was even bigger than it had first appeared. Light spilled   
from the doorway, showing every detail: the lumin bugs in the   
elevator shaft were still active and kept their place. A   
stormtrooper leaned over and looked down the shaft. "Where's the   
turbolift?"  
  
Beyin looked at the flat-backed crab. "I believe we've just   
killed it."  
  
The general picked out five stormtroopers. "Uncoil the   
lines and magnet-seal them to the shaft?s interior. We'll repel   
down."  
  
"You're going yourself, sir?" An officer started. "The risk-"  
  
"If we don't dig Coerl out soon we will lose a valuable   
opportunity." He tested the line. "We'll keep our com links open.   
Double-check your helmet-cams," he said to the troopers going   
with him, "the Admiral will want a record of this."  
  
  
The six Imperials braced themselves and jumped out,   
unreeled some line and stopped the reel after three seconds. Their   
weight swung them back to the wall and Beyin felt the impact of   
his feet travel all the way to the top of his head. Mejas is right,   
he thought grimly, I am getting too old for this. For months his   
wife had been pressing him to stay off the battlefield, or at least to   
command from a safe distance. His response had always been the   
same: "I wouldn't trust these humans to lace their own boots   
without me standing over them." That was his attitude on this   
mission as well, but almost getting scooped out of one's armor and   
eaten by a giant crab can encourage one to stop and take stock.  
  
Perhaps I'll try and avoid direct combat after this, he   
thought, a little sadly, Mejas should be relieved, if I'm too old for   
battle, then she's too old to moon over her man's latest scars. He   
chuckled quietly, she probably wouldn't be so happy to hear it   
that way, he decided. So he would phrase it in just those words.  
  
They had gone down nearly two levels when Beyin noticed   
their companions: the lumin bugs that hovered just a foot over   
their heads, gently glowing. The humans would no longer need   
their night vision.  
  
The Imperials landed, unhooked their harnesses and let   
them hang, then readies their blasters. The door to the last   
sublevel was a normal-looking one that slid into the wall,   
apparently the Vong saw nothing wrong with that simple   
mechanics. It was closed, but there were handles and the door   
itself looked light.  
  
"You take point," Beyin indicated one trooper, "the rest of   
us will spread out behind him. We don't know what we're dealing   
with, so set blasters on high and shoot anything that moves." The   
troopers gave quick, affirmative nods. Beyin took the handle and   
pulled the door into the wall.  
  
In the backs of their minds, the Imperials had expected to   
see something resembling the inside of an insect hive in this place,   
far from prying eyes, where the trappings of the surface   
civilization could be set aside: a stone cavern, stripped bare of   
technology but covered by strange and grotesque organic devices.   
They expected slime, buzzing, transparent wings and things that  
scuttled on fast little legs. What they saw was a sunny day in paradise.  
  
The grass, the lake, the colorful avians and the bright   
sunshine were so overwhelming a contrast to horrors above that it   
took a moment to register the single Yuuzhan Vong standing   
before them, about five paces from the entry.   
  
The Vong female was armored, but her head and hands   
were bare. A tall, portly Jrukto in military-style clothing stood   
beside her, looking both hopeful and terrified. The alien held   
something in both hands, heart-shaped and spined.  
  
Beyin blinked. "Fire!"  
  
Blaster bolts streaked past the doorway, converged and   
vanished at a point a good foot from the Vong. The alien wore a   
smug half-smile and held out the dovin basal as if she were a   
primitive native offering what beads and rocks her tribe took for   
wealth to the strange sky-gods, a scene Beyin had witnessed   
several times on backward planets brought into the Empire.  
  
The point man charged through the door, blaster raised to   
shoot again, and in less than a second he was yanked off his feet   
pulled forward, compressed into a speck of dust and sucked into   
another universe, caught by the miniature gravity well of the dovin   
basal.  
  
A fresh volley of blasterfire was sent through the door, only   
to meet the same fate as the first. The Vong took a step forward   
and tilted her head to one side.  
  
"The gods taste your fear." She spoke in Basic. The   
remaining five stormtroopers had pressed their backs against the   
far end of the shaft. By now they knew their weapons were   
useless, but the sheer, blind panic that seized all of them, even   
Beyin, kept them firing anyway. The Vong took another step and   
Beyin fancied he could feel the undeniable tug of gravity.  
  
For a moment she stood and contemplated the Imperials,   
then began walking steadily toward them. "Enough of this." Her   
eyes glittered and her smile was a savage baring of teeth. "Feed   
the gods."  
  
****************************************  
Kei Rascer and the other minders had made a mistake in   
dealing with Coerl: they failed to understand him. They believed   
he was just another soft, weak-willed infidel, he certainly broke   
quickly enough, and so never expected trouble from his quarter.   
As a result, Kei Rascer paid no attention to him at all as she moved   
to deal with the Imperials, as if the Warlord was just another of the   
ever-obedient Vong creatures.  
  
It was a mistake Thrawn would never have made.  
  
Coerl was a great many things: an opportunist, a liar, a   
thief, a slave master and a murderer thousands of times over, but   
he had never been a coward. True, he wouldn't fight for a hopeless   
cause, and true to his opportunistic nature he would always try to   
make the best of his situation, but if he believed there was a   
chance of victory, even the ghost of a chance, then he would fight   
like only a cornered ranat could.  
  
The Warlord glanced at Kei Rascer as the troopers opened   
fire and one poor fool was sucked into the dovin basal, he saw she   
was concentrating exclusively on the Imperials. Quickly but   
quietly, he moved to a small desk he had noted earlier, noticing the   
long coufee that lay atop it. He closed his fingers on the weapon   
and lifted it. Strong, well-balanced, freshly-sharpened, it would   
do.  
  
The Obeyers would have stopped him immediately if he   
tried to attack Kei Rascer: she had told him long ago never to raise   
hand or weapon to a Yuuzhan Vong, but she had said nothing   
about Vong creatures.  
  
  
Moving with speed and agility that hinted a good portion of   
his bulk was still muscle, Coerl crossed the room, drawing back   
his arm.  
  
"Feed the gods." Kei Rascer was saying. The Imperials   
were probably about to dirty their fine, white armor. Coerl   
rammed the blade into the dovin basal up to its hilt, wrenched it   
away from Kei Rascer and hurled it away, coufee and all. It   
impacted a wall, hung for a moment, caught on the vines by its   
spike, then dropped to the grass dragging the flowering plants with   
it. Kei Rascer spun, eyes wide, and Coerl saw something on her   
face he would have died a hundred times over the past three years   
to see: total shock, complete disbelief.  
  
"Feed them yourself." Coerl grinned at her with an   
expression of pure triumph. The stormtroopers were rushing out   
of the shaft, raising their weapons. Shock turned to rage as Kei   
Rascer swung her arm at Coerl in a move too fast for him to avoid   
even if the Obeyers allowed him to dodge. The first of the blaster   
bolts struck her torso as her claws caught his neck, tearing his   
throat out as she was flung backwards by the force. The feeling of   
joy wasn't lessened in the least by the pain and the feel of warmth   
running down his neck and chest. This was, undoubtably, the   
greatest victory of his life.  
  
***********************************************  
Thrawn was watching the final scene play itself out on his   
monitors as the sliding doors heralded Captain Parck's arrival with   
a low swish. The recording, taken from a stormtrooper's   
helmet-cam, showed the conflict under the bunker from a firsthand   
prospective.  
  
"A moment, Captain." Thrawn stroked his chin as he   
studied the images. "This is almost over." Freed from the dovin   
basal, stormtroopers charged out of the turbolift and opened fire on   
the Vong female while Coerl bled the last of his life out on the   
grass.  
  
"Ironic that the Warlord should play such an important part   
in this, isn't it Captain?" Thrawn murmured. "Ironic, unexpected,   
but with a touch of dramatic symmetry that is almost artistic."  
  
If you say so. Parck thought. Personally, he was too   
happy all had worked out so well to notice patterns.  
  
The recording was naturally a bit grainy and the picture   
tended to wobble, but Parck could make out the action. The   
blasterfire converged, knocking the armored Vong to the ground.   
She was up in a heartbeat though, wielding one of those double-  
edged daggers Vergere had called coufees. She was moving with   
unbelievable speed, not retreating but rather attacking Beyin and   
the stormtroopers. She actually managed to kill one and injure   
another before her armor finally gave way to the blaster bolts.  
  
  
Right now, the corpse of Coerl's chief minder was being   
thoroughly autopsied by a team of Imperial surgeons and droids.   
In whatever plane of existence he now occupied, the Warlord   
would undoubtably be thrilled to know his tormentor was being   
scanned, analyses and taken apart by hated machines.  
  
Thrawn switched off the recording and turned to the   
captain. "Very enlightening. Now, what is our status?" Parck   
handed him a datapad.  
  
"Battle damage and casualty reports," the captain said, "as   
well as recommendations for promotions in the ground forces from   
General Beyin. He recommends one injured stormtrooper for the   
commendation medal." Park stood at ease. "I've also been in   
contact with Moff Niriz; the warlords have pulled back their fleets   
and appear to be on the defensive."  
  
Thrawn nodded. "Without the plagues they no longer have   
common cause, nor do they have Coerl to goad them, and none   
wish to be caught off-guard as he was." He scanned the casualty   
lists first and shook his head. "The families of those killed in   
action have been notified and compensated?"  
  
"Moff Niriz has arranged it."  
  
Thrawn nodded and returned the datapad to Parck, who   
glanced down and saw the admiral had marked out the names of   
those who had served with special distinction. "I will express my   
condolences to these families personally." He stood and walked to   
one of the pieces of holographic art. "A pity, we have lost some   
exceptional men."  
  
"Men die in any battle." Parck nodded. "That's a reality we   
all face, and it's never easy to replace good soldiers. Unless you   
know where to find some Spaarti cloning cylinders I don't see how   
it can be avoided." The last sentence was spoken with deliberate   
levity and punctuated with a chuckle, but instead of smiling   
Thrawn turned and regarded him with his eyebrows slightly   
arched.  
  
"An interesting observation, Captain. I will think on it   
later." He paced to a small table at the far end of the room and set   
his glowing eyes on another prize of particular interest; a head-  
sized, leathery sphere, inert to all appearances. The villip that had   
been inside the clam-creature under the bunker, miraculously   
undamaged by flying blaster bolts.  
  
"I wonder, Captain, if the Vong sent word of our attack to   
Sang Anor." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. If he doesn't know   
by now he's lost Coerl, he soon will. We can expect him to make a   
move against us soon, but now he will be forced to act in a much   
more direct manner." He smiled. "I am close, Captain, very close   
to drawing our true enemy out into the open." He turned to Parck.   
"Finish your briefing."  
  
  
Things had gone perfectly, better than any could have   
hoped. The counterattack by Coerl's fleet had been disorderly,   
unplanned, reactionary and lacking in strength. Thrawn's forces   
had taken damage, given a lot more, and the enemy forces had   
pulled back. More Imperial ships were arriving and royalist forces   
had taken control of Orune Prime. Coerl had eradicated the old   
royal family in his first years in power, but the formerly outlawed   
noble classes had compared bloodlines and determined who had   
the strongest claim to the throne. A coronation ceremony had just   
occurred in the capital. A new Monarch ruled the Jrukto, with an   
Imperial advisor at her side of course, and plans for Orune Prime's   
induction into the Empire were being finalized.  
  
Enemy hold-outs on Orune Prime were being contained,   
and without Coerl the fleet and planets had no central leadership.   
The late Warlord's commanders were too busy carving up Coerl's   
territory to mount an attack, and none of them had the will or the   
strength to do so anyway. By now the plagues the Vong had   
unleashed were burned out. The sick were being treated by the   
best Imperial doctors, and instead of shaking Unity Fleet and its   
protectorates apart, the disaster had the Imperial territories more   
close knit than ever once Thrawn had given them Coerl as a   
common enemy to focus on.  
  
Aside from the creatures in the bunker, there appeared to   
be no Yuuzhan Vong presence on Orune Prime. Imperial and   
royalist troops hadn't encountered anything except conventional   
weaponry in the fighting. The surviving Vong must have gone to   
ground somewhere on the planet. Thrawn had ordered that any   
unknown human or Chiss be detained and checked, and Imperial   
troops were warned to stay on their guard and not get separated, in   
case the Vong tried to isolate some troopers and assume their   
identities for the purpose of sabotage and assassination, as they   
had on the Admonitor.  
  
"On a closing note, sir, we have just received word from   
the Miashku system. On hearing of our victory at Orune Prime,   
the High Councilers have arrested several of the late Warlord's   
operatives who were encouraging them to withdraw from the   
Empire. The High Council offers a total and public vote of   
support to you in whatever your endeavors. Also, Moff Niriz   
reports the Admonitor is spaceworthy again. He has selected a   
captain for her and a new crew is being trained."  
  
"Excellent, excellent." The Grand Admiral nodded. "Once   
the repair crews have finished work on the Imperitor we will set   
course for Orrsa. Captain Zreem will remain as head of the   
planetary garrison. Once we arrive at Orrsa I intend to contact   
Imperial Center and try to speak with the Emperor. Hopefully he   
and Lord Vader have crushed the rebellion with their Death Star by   
now and will be free to-"  
  
"Kei Rascer."  
  
Both Imperials spun to face the strange voice behind them.   
Parck reached for his blaster, Thrawn's was already drawn and   
aimed at the source of the voice.  
  
A severed head.  
  
  
That was Parck's initial reaction to the active villip.   
Thrawn had told him about the Vong communication devices and,   
intellectually, he knew what they did, but he felt his stomach twist   
at how realistic the face was. It must have inverted and   
morphed the visage of a Yuuzhan Vong, one with more scars and   
tattoos than Parck had seen on any of the Vong corpses they had   
obtained so far. The Captain shivered, and not just because of the   
grotesque alien-ness of the creature. There was something about   
that face, a quality of the eyes, that made Parck feel like a blade of   
ice was twisting in his stomach even though he knew it was only a   
representation.  
  
"Kei Rascer." It said again, slightly louder, in a voice more   
realistic than any com-link could provide. Then the villip...waited,   
its 'face' composed and ?eyes? lowered, probably reflecting how the   
real Vong was directing his eyes to his own villip.  
  
Thrawn had holstered his blaster and Parck belatedly did   
likewise while the Chiss slowly circled the table. The talking head   
simply waited, evidently expecting a response. "Well," the   
Admiral said quietly, "the Vong must contact Coerl's minders at   
about this time."  
  
"Sir," Parck swallowed, unable to look away from the   
villip, "do you think that?s-"  
  
"Sang Anor. Yes, I believe so." Thrawn pulled out a chair   
and sat, facing the villip. Parck took a step forward. So this was   
the enemy himself, the being who?d caused them so much misery   
lately. Thrawn studied the face while the Vong waited patiently   
for his chief overseer to report.  
  
"Should I get..." Parck trailed off, technitions and splicer   
droids wouldn?t do any good, perhaps a biologist could scan the   
thing for whatever it used to communicate, "someone?"  
  
"No need, Captain, just switch on my chambers' internal   
sensors and holocams, the controls are on the arm of my command   
chair." Parck did as he was told, and when he turned back he saw   
the admiral reaching both hands to the villip.  
  
"Sir, what are you doing?"  
  
"I think it's time the Executor and I spoke, face to face, or   
at least in a close approximation."  
  
"Is this safe?" Parck asked as Thrawn's fingertips touched   
either side of the ridge encircling the villip's 'neck.'  
  
"From what Vergere told me, yes I believe so." The villip's   
face turned upward and its eyes met Thrawn's gaze as the   
connection was made.  
  
Sang Anor seemed to nod slightly, and then he saw the   
features his villip assumed. The eyes widened fractionally for a   
second, then narrowed slowly. Parck, a veteran of more than a few   
battles, found he was very relieved that Sang Anor's villip could   
only show him Thrawn's face and let him hear Thrawn's voice. He   
had a feeling that being noticed by that Yuuzhan Vong wasn't   
exactly conductive to a long and healthy life.  
  
  
They were silent for a long moment, the Chiss Admiral   
staring intently at what appeared to be a severed head, which in   
turn was staring back at him just as intently. The image might   
have been ridiculous if Parck hadn't known how deadly serious   
this was. Both were probing, studying, taking each other's   
measure, waiting to see who would make the first move. It was   
Sang Anor who finally spoke.  
  
"Grand Admiral Thrawn, I presume?" A cool, smooth   
voice, the tone was one of a greeting between prominent   
individuals who have heard of, but never met, one another. Parck   
wasn't sure what, exactly, he expected: snarling rage, threats,   
demands to know what was going on, something like that.   
Certainly not this sedate voice.  
  
"And you would be Sang Anor." Not a question, a   
statement of fact. The Vong lifted his brows, then narrowed his   
eyes in understanding.  
  
"The Jedi told you my name." He said pleasantly, two   
acquaintances discussing a mutual friend.  
  
"She told me a great many things about you." Thrawn   
answered in the same tone.  
  
"Is that so?" Sang Anor replied. "I take it your possession   
of this villip means I have lost my...local support?"  
  
"You are correct."  
  
"I see." Parck felt his heart pounding in his chest. They   
both sounded so pleasant, so civilized, but if they were truly   
face-to-face they would be trying to kill each other with their bare   
hands by now. He fought the urge to step back further. This   
conversation made him feel like a Jawa huddling in the sand while   
two krayt dragons circled one another, probing for weaknesses   
before they began a fight only one would walk away from. The   
likes of Parck could be crushed in a battle between those two, and   
neither would even notice.  
  
"If the Jedi told anything about me, you would know how   
unwise it is to continue getting in my way."  
  
"Really? I think the reverse would be more accurate."   
Thrawn leaned forward. "Opposing me is a mistake, Executor: you   
tried twice, you failed twice. Now you have lost Coerl and all the   
power and territories he controlled. Your influence in the   
Unknown Regions has evaporated while I have never been more   
secure." A smile as false as a Sith lord's promises crept across his   
face. "I would think you?d be tired of dancing around by now and   
realize these schemes of yours are getting you nowhere. I was   
given to understand Yuuzhan Vong were warriors." He finished in   
a tone of disappointment.  
  
"My methods have yielded some results, you must admit."   
Sang Anor smiled back. "Ask all the Imperials my plagues have   
struck down, and all your protectorates who will yet fall ill."  
  
  
"There will not be any future victims." Thrawn said coldly,   
the pleasant tone vanished replaced by a slight edge in his voice.   
He gave the Vong a look Parck hoped would never be directed at   
him. "Your spore plants have been destroyed." The glow from his   
eyes brightened several degrees, the only sign of emotion he   
allowed. "I mean to see you dead for that."  
  
The calmly-delivered threat would have left any half-  
intelligent sentient shaking. Sang Anor didn't show any apparent   
reaction at all. Then he smiled.  
  
"No." He laughed softly.  
  
"No what?" Thrawn?s mouth twitched slightly.  
  
"You're not ready for that, Chiss. You're still   
too...civilized...to understand how Yuuzhan Vong fight."  
  
"I understand enough."  
  
"Again, no. This fight is still too much of an intellectual   
exercise for you, Thrawn. You need to be...bloodied. You need   
some stains on that pristine uniform of yours." He showed his   
teeth. "I'll help you with that."  
  
"What are you going to do? Have me shot in the back?   
Unleash another plague?"  
  
"I'm going to wound you, Admiral. I'm going to put a scar   
on you that will last the rest of your life. My face will be the first   
thing you think of when you wake up, the last before you sleep,   
and my name will echo in your dreams, then you will know how   
to fight as Yuuzhan Vong do."  
  
"Resorting to vague threats, I'm very intimidated."  
  
"You'll get no hints from me, it would spoil the surprise."   
Parck ground his teeth. "My next move will be personal, Thrawn.   
Very personal."  
  
The face seemed to lose definition and began to sink in on   
itself as Sang Anor released his own villip. Thrawn withdrew his   
hands as the villip inverted and became inert.  
  
Thrawn folded his hands, saying nothing, still watching the   
villip.  
  
"Sir," Parck ventured, "should I turn off the sensors?"  
  
"Yes, I believe so." Parck turned to the chair. "Captain,"   
Parck turned to Thrawn and saw something in the glowing eyes he   
had never observed there before: a lack of confidence that he   
would be tempted to call fear in any other being, "I think I may   
have miscalculated."  
  



	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten  
  
Dreamless, Vergere slept.  
  
It was the most peaceful rest she'd experienced since her   
days as a padawan. Perfect contentment; she was as swaddled in   
warmth and safety, as when she had been a nestling barely big   
enough to fit in the palm of Thracia's hand. She'd been in constant   
danger for so many years, shouldered a Jedi's burdens of   
responsibility for everyone around her: she faced the prospect of   
death and torture every day during her years of captivity with the   
Yuuzhan Vong.   
  
Nearly thirty years in the Long Reach of Death, all the   
while searching desperately for information: weaknesses about the   
invaders and ways she might escape to stop them, knowing her   
first attempt would be her last, one way or another. Three more   
years on the run, alone, with no place to call home and no one to   
turn to for help, three years dodging pirates and warlords who   
might kill her for any reason or none at all, following beings who   
would do a thousand times worse if she was recaptured.  
  
It was nice, to stop struggling and just...drift.  
  
But nothing lasts forever. Soon, images began intruding on   
the warm, womblike slumber. Reflections and sounds flowed past   
as she opened herself to the Force. She saw life in all its forms,   
past, present and future, as the ocean of life carried her on its   
waves and currents. Too much to comprehend, until everything   
resolved into a single scene.  
  
She had no eyes in this incarnation: what she perceived as   
vision were the reflections of people and objects in the Force,   
interpreted by her mind into a form she could readily comprehend.  
  
A swamp, not very different from the world of the Nesz. A   
small but cozy home, the edges were rounded and the exterior   
covered in moss. Vergere was bodiless, not bound by the limits of   
the physical world, instead she moved through the all-  
encompassing energy field of the Force where distance and time   
had no meaning. She focused on the small home and found herself   
inside the dwelling, crossing the distance and passing through   
walls at literally the speed of thought.  
  
  
Everything was built to a small being's scale. A young   
human male in a black jumpsuit sat on the floor. He had blue eyes   
and sandy hair, there was something vaguely familiar about him,   
though judging by his age Vergere couldn't possibly have met him,   
she would have been taken by the Yuuzhan Vong long before he'd been   
born. The human was watching someone, a troubled expression on   
his face. Vergere shifted her vision to the room's other occupant.   
It took a moment for her to register what she saw, and then she   
received a shock that rippled through her spirit-being and the   
energy surrounding it. For a moment she had failed to recognize   
Master Yoda, it had been so long since she'd seen the diminutive   
Jedi.  
  
  
But there was no doubt: she felt his identity through the   
Force and twin bonfires of joy and despair lit within her. He was   
alive, and he was dying.  
  
He hobbled past the human, leaning heavily a walking   
stick. Yoda had used a cane for as long as she could remember,   
but she'd always had the impression that he could get around just   
as well without it. Certainly the lively, energetic Jedi Master had   
never needed such total physical support. Seeing this new   
frailty unnerved her, it was like watching the sun waver and fade   
away. It was horrible, half of her wished he could see her, that she   
could be there in her flesh and speak to him. At the same time the   
other half wished she could turn back time and stop herself from   
seeing the great Jedi like this.  
  
Yoda lifted his aged, time-worn head and looked at   
Vergere, directly into her spirit being. "That face you make," he   
said, "look I so old to young eyes?" His own eyes, sad and weary   
but still as sharp with intelligence and deep with wisdom, seemed   
to peer into her soul, laying bare all her thoughts and emotions.  
  
"No," the young human shook his head and Vergere   
realized Yoda had spoken to him, not her, "of course not."  
  
"But I do," he coughed, "I do." He turned around slowly,   
old bones and joints protesting every move. He was so small, and   
he felt so very tired. "Sick have I become, hmmm, yes, old and   
weak." His head perked up and his long ears lay back. "When   
nine hundred years you reach, look as good, you will not.   
Humph!" He punctuated with the same spirit Vergere remembered   
from her days at the Temple, and she had to smile.  
  
Yoda crossed the room and climbed slowly to his bed.   
"Soon will I rest, yes," he grunted with the effort and the human   
helped pull the coverlet over the Jedi Master. It was an   
unconscious and oddly endearing gesture, "forever sleep."  
  
Vergere simultaneously noticed two things about the   
stranger: the first was that his right hand wasn't visible to her the   
way the rest of him was, she saw him through the Force and the   
limb must be artificial, the second was his amazing potential in the   
Force. The youth was powerful enough to rival Master Yoda   
himself, though that power was yet unrealized.  
  
"Twilight is upon me, and soon, night must fall." Yoda   
rested his head and his eyelids lowered, not because he had   
consciously closed them, but because he couldn't muster the   
strength to hold them open. In her Force-vision, the Master's body   
began fading into transparency as the will and energy that   
animated it weakened and lost its hold on this plane of existence.   
"That is the way of things," he sighed, "the way of the Force."  
  
No, she thought softly, trying to deny the inevitable,   
I've only just found you again, and I need guidance, you can't   
die!  
  
"Master Yoda you can't die." The human was saying, and   
not even he knew whether he was trying to convince Yoda or   
himself of that.  
  
  
Yoda chuckled weakly. "Strong am I with the Force, but   
not that strong." It would happen soon now, like the last drops of   
water spilling from a worn vessel, and the spirit-Jedi retreated.  
  
Vergere pulled herself away from them, from the old house   
in the swamp, from the planet, from that part of the galaxy and   
sought her own sleeping body. She didn't want to stay, couldn't   
stay, no matter the Force's reason for showing her that time and   
place, no matter what it wished her to hear.  
  
It didn't matter, a few moments later she still felt Yoda's   
passage from this universe: for so long the Jedi Master had been a   
single bright light shining defiantly against the darkness that   
shrouded the galaxy. Today that light had finally gone out, and the   
dark side became that much stronger. How many lights remained   
to counter the dark side and its Sith disciples?  
  
Vergere snapped back into her body and sat bolt-upright,   
her violet eyes flew open and saw only pitch blackness around her,   
but before her eyes had completely opened her hand had shot out   
to where she felt her lightsaber would be, lying beside her on the   
woven blanket she lay on, and closed around the weapon.  
  
"Vergere," Oin's voice from the darkness, "don't worry,   
you're among friends!" He said urgently, and the Fosh   
remembered what had happened in the swamps of this world, as   
well as the events of that distant swamp planet.  
  
The Jedi shivered. The Force was all-encompassing: as it   
bound the galaxy together all places became one. The Force did   
not just bind everywhere, but everywhen, encompassing all that   
was, is and will be. Somehow, despite that, Vergere knew what   
she had seen had happened 'now' in the world of mass as well.   
Master Yoda, oldest of the Jedi, who had apparently survived the   
longest, was dead.  
  
What did that mean for Vergere? Was she then the last?   
She needed Thracia's council now, more than ever.  
  
Well, that just wasn't going to happen, so she'd better pull   
herself together and deal with the moment. "Oin," she spoke softly   
into the darkness and stretched out her senses through the Force.   
She sensed three beings beside herself nearby, all were familiar,   
"Dra, Stent." Her feathers bristled, testing the air. "Are we safe?"  
  
"Yes," Dra's voice, from farther away. "I don't think the   
Vong will be looking for us here." The chief Nesz sounded odd,   
wry.  
  
"Good," she sighed. Gingerly, she touched her midsection,   
where Nom Anor's amphistaff had wounded her, and her eyes   
widened. She pressed harder, then used the Force to quickly   
confirm what she felt.  
  
  
"How long was I out?" She asked urgently. She had   
recovered completely, without even a scar to show according to   
her exploring fingers. She should have woken from her trance the   
minute she was able to function without a serious danger to her   
life. How could she have slept so long? "What's happened to the   
Nesz, the Imperials?"  
  
"They're fine," Oin assured her. He was beside the Jedi, his   
scaled hand on her shoulder seemed to drain away her tension.   
"It's only been a few hours, five at the most, since the fight."  
  
"That's impossible," she got to her feet, "a healing trance   
speeds up a body's natural healing process, but it still takes time.   
For this level of recovery I would've been asleep for days! I-" She   
paused, taking in the feel of their unseen hiding place in full. The   
air felt...strange, it didn't flow: there were none of the tiny breezes   
that she had grown accustomed to. The smell of this place was   
odd as well, musty and wet. She stepped off the blanket and her   
feet sank slightly. There was mud between her toes, this wasn't a   
cave then, not that she knew of any caves in this part of the planet.  
  
"Where are we?" She asked. And come to think of it,   
where was Stent? She should have seen his glowing eyes in the   
darkness by now, heard at least one angry demand from the Chiss   
commander. The Force wasn't warning her of danger, but she   
didn't wait for a response from either Nesz. Instead, the Jedi   
activated her weapon and bathed the space around her in violet   
light.  
  
She leapt back, away from the creature that stood before   
her and raised the lightsaber to a guard position. It was very large,   
translucent, and there were many more behind it and around them.   
She was surrounded!  
  
"Vergere please!" Oin approached cautiously, holding up   
his hands. "Believe me, there is nothing to fear in this place." Dra   
nodded in agreement, his single eye glinting. Both Nesz were   
illuminated by the violet light, which made their scaly hides look   
almost black. Vergere sensed the truth in Oin?s statement and   
forced herself to calm down, to slow her breathing and heartbeat   
and find at Jedi's inner serenity, not be ruled by reactions to fear.  
  
The creatures that loomed over her weren't 'creatures' at   
all, but though she could tell they weren't alive, she couldn't tell   
what they were!  
  
It was their continuing movement that gave the illusion of   
life: the clear, shapeless blobs would bulge one second and thin the   
next, tendrils would reach out, entwine and return to the main   
body. Vergere was reminded of the Yuuzhan Vongs' blorash jelly, but there   
was nothing insidious or menacing in these object. They really   
were quite beautiful, now that she looked at them. The way their   
surfaces caught and reflected the light from her lightsaber, for   
instance, and the strange, alien grace of movement that   
nonetheless seemed familiar, like an ever-evolving dance. It was   
almost hypnotic.  
  
With an effort, she wrenched her eyes away from the   
strange whatever-it-was and looked around. The two Nesz   
watched her, silently, letting her explore for herself.  
  
  
Vergere looked around. She counted over a dozen of them   
in all and they didn't even begin to crowd the domed space. The   
walls and ceiling were a smooth, continuous curve without so   
much as a nick or scratch that her sharp eyes could see, but a   
glittering substance was scattered along the ceiling. Curious, she   
moved toward the nearest wall, her head darting around to look in   
all directions at once in response to her avian instincts on   
encountering a strange environment. Using the lightsaber as a   
glowrod, she neared the wall and studied it with her eyes and the   
Force.  
  
It was made of...glass? No, it wasn't in any fixed state but   
fluid, like the odd statues. She looked closer, saw small fish swim   
past her face, and understood.  
  
Vergere backed away. "We're at the bottom of a lake."   
She looked at Oin, who nodded in confirmation. Turning her head   
upward, she recognized the 'glitter' on the ceiling for what it was:   
stars seen through how-many-meters of water!  
  
"But how do you maintain this...pocket of air?" She looked   
around for some sort of force-field generator.  
  
"We don't," Dra answered, stepping around a dancing   
statue, "the Eternals made this place for us, they hold the water   
back and bring fresh air from above."  
  
"Eternals..." Vergere trailed off. During her time with the   
Nesz, she had come to understand their culture as best any non-  
Nesz could. From what she could discern the Eternals weren't   
exactly gods, nor were they ghosts or spirits of dead individuals,   
precisely. Vergere didn't know what the Nesz believed happened   
to them after death. The Nesz didn't worship or pray to the   
Eternals, nor were they blamed for problems like disease or bad   
luck in hunting.  
  
The Nesz spoke of the Eternals with respect, but not fear.   
The average Nesz could, in fact, speak to an Eternal anytime.  
  
That was what the natives believed, anyway. Vergere had   
never sensed any presence aside from the Nesz on this planet, and   
so had assumed the small reptilians were speaking metaphorically:   
either they were seeing signs and portents or experiencing semi-  
psychic dreams that offered guidance.  
  
Apparently, she needed to reevaluate.  
  
She peered at the water, neither frozen nor held back by   
any force-field technology like the Gungans used in their   
underwater cities. It took every Jedi calming technique he knew to   
keep from panicking at the thought of all that crushing pressure:   
the Fosh were built for the sky and open spaces.  
  
"It's safe," Oin said, "you can touch it if you like."  
  
  
The Jedi looked from him to the wall and hesitantly   
stretched her hand out. Her fingertips sank into the water, with   
only a few ripples radiating out along the surface. Emboldened,   
she rolled back her sleeve and plunged her hand and forearm into   
the wall. The water was cold and clean, she pulled her hand back   
and raised it in front of her lightsaber. It was dry, not so much as a   
droplet of water clung to her feathers.  
  
"Incredible." She breathed. Turning away from the wall,   
she caught sight of another occupant of the underwater dome:   
Stent. The Imperial lay on a blanket, curled in a fetal position near   
the wall, breathing regularly. "What's wrong with him?" She   
asked, taking a step toward the Chiss. "Is he sick?" She touched   
the corners of her eyes, preparing to coax out some healing tears.  
  
"He sleeps." A new voice, one she heard with her mind,   
not her ears. Cold, deep and menacing. She spun, eyes searching   
for source of the sound. "We saw no need for him to participate in   
this, so we made him sleep. When he awakes, he will remember   
what we wish him to remember, as will you, depending on how   
this conversation goes."  
  
There was no one in the dome but her, the Nesz and Stent,   
she was certain of it, but while the voice spoke she had begun to   
sense another presence nonetheless. More than one, now that she   
thought about it, and not in the dome but in the Force itself. As the   
voice in her head trailed away, she folded her arms, stilled her   
breathing and made her feathers settle.  
  
"That's reassuring," she tilted her head to one side and   
casually continued, "and now that I have been sufficiently   
intimidated, can we start discussing something useful? That is, if I   
may assume, why you brought me here." She tapped her torso.   
"Thank you for the swift recovery, by the way." She felt a ripple of   
anger from one presence, the speaker she judged, but a burst of   
amusement from several other unseen beings as well.  
  
"Please, forgive our colleague." A new voice sounded in   
her mind. "We are unused to dealing with aliens and he believed   
an initial show of strength was in order. Truthfully, he was   
reluctant to try for outside help at all." She sensed a low, sullen   
grumble from the first speaker in the background. "Well we told   
you a Jedi would not be so easily cowed." The Eternal's tone   
turned remonstrative, and Vergere sensed the last statement was   
not directed at her. Behind her, Oin and Dra breathed audible   
sighs of relief.  
  
"Would you care for some light?" The Eternal asked.  
  
"Yes, if you please." Vergere answered politely. No   
sooner were the words spoken than several small, glowing orbs   
appeared above them, lighting the dome. Oin looked on, wide-  
eyed. Vergere merely nodded as she deactivated her lightsaber   
and clipped it to her belt. She saw through the Force what the   
Eternal did was simply to speed up the movements of some air   
molecules: the glow was simply energy given off by the friction,   
any Jedi could have done the same. The mobile statues and   
underwater dome were much more impressive.  
  
"Better?"  
  
  
"Yes, thank you." Vergere looked around, wishing she had   
some physical being to focus on.  
  
"Well, if that will make you more comfortable..." A   
shimmering, semitransparent shape appeared before her. It   
resembled a Nesz, but its features were constantly shifting. One   
second the being looked young then old, male, then female. It   
even took on different colorations and racial characteristics from   
one minute to the next, and with every shift Vergere could see   
through the scaly skin into the muscle and bone beneath.  
  
Vergere nodded again. "And you would be an Eternal, am I   
right?" She chuckled. "Very cooperative all of a sudden. So, is   
this the new strategy? To kill me with kindness?" Dra and Oin   
looked at her in shock.  
  
Another Eternal appeared, by its presence in the Force   
Vergere knew it was the first speaker. "You would do well to   
show respect, Jedi." Its eyes flashed with anger.  
  
"You wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if you didn't   
need me." She returned coldly. "And seeing as you've been trying   
to manipulate me from the moment I set foot on this world doesn't   
exactly inspire excessive trust on my part." She glanced at Oin.   
"You ordered him to stow away on my freighter, didn't you? Do   
you know the danger you placed him in?"  
  
"He was a willing volunteer, eager for an adventure and   
ready to help his people." The first speaker shot back. "And how   
do you dare judge us? You told the Empire about what the   
Yuuzhan Vong, knowing what would be set in motion!" The   
water-statues writhed in reaction to the Eternal's mounting fury,   
one lashed a solid limb at her, more in reaction than design, and   
only swift reflexes saved her from broken bones. "Our young ones   
are nothing to you, a backwards race on an unimportant world, you   
would sacrifice them to save those 'superior' peoples in a   
heartbeat!" The beings who were ruled by greed, who hurt and   
killed their fellows without remorse, hung unspoken.  
  
Vergere felt shame at what the Eternal said. She nodded.   
"Yes, I admit it." She said gently, sadly. "I saw no other option.   
I'm sorry, but perhaps if you had revealed yourselves to me sooner   
we might have thought of something else." The Eternal glared at   
her and was about to say something more.  
  
"She's right." The second Eternal spoke. The first turned   
on him and Vergere sensed ripples of sensation and emotion in the   
Force. If the first Eternal was a physical being, he would be   
sputtering in anger, unable to form words.  
  
"Be silent!" The second snapped, with more force. "We   
have tried doing things your way and have met with little success,   
now let us stop these recriminations." The first one calmed and   
nodded his head and the second turned to Vergere. "Perhaps we   
should have revealed ourselves once we got to know you better   
through our young ones, but much has happened lately that is   
beyond our experience and we were unsure of what course of   
action to take."  
  
Vergere mulled that over for a few seconds. "Yes, I   
understand your point of view. What's your purpose in revealing   
yourselves to me now?"  
  
"Oin here has insisted that our best chance," the Eternal   
paused and seemed to glance at the young Nesz standing nearby,   
"our only chance is to abandon subterfuge and offer an   
alliance."  
  
Vergere renewed her calming technique. "Our best chance   
to do what?"  
  
"To do what we've always done," the first Eternal spoke up,   
"protect our young ones." The drifted closer. "The first alien ship   
came here more than a thousand years ago. A survey team, sent to   
investigate this planet, to see if there was any profit to be had in   
setting up a colony." The being shivered in anger. "We took one   
look inside the crews' mind and got a taste of what 'civilization' is   
like, and vowed our young ones would want no part of it. We   
know whenever an alien sets foot on our world, and we warn our   
young ones to stay clear of the offworlders while encourage them   
to leave."  
  
"Encourage?" Vergere asked suspiciously. "How?"  
  
"We cause no harm." The other being said firmly.   
"Violence of any kind is against our nature. We can, however,   
influence a sleeping mind." The Jedi nodded at that: everyone in   
her Order knew you could easily access a mind when it was asleep   
or in a trancelike state, when the defenses were down and the   
sleeper open to suggestion. A few bad nightmares, strong feelings   
of discomfort, that would be enough to drive off a survey team.  
  
"Remote probes and survey droids were more of a   
problem," the Eternal continued, "so far we have only had two   
such cases, both more than a century ago. There was little we   
could do aside from keeping an eye on the intruder and making   
sure our young ones avoid it until they were recalled." The Eternal   
seemed to sigh. "Our best defense has always been isolation, this   
world is difficult to reach and there is no reason for a shipfaring   
race to come here, these qualities have always served us well."  
  
"Until now," Vergere said grimly, "when it was probably   
just those qualities that made this planet so attractive to Sang   
Anor."  
  
"The Yuuzhan Vong are worse than any other invaders, and   
we cannot touch them, nor their creatures. We're powerless   
against them."  
  
"What about all this?" She gestured at the air bubble, at the   
lights and the statues. "You have some influence over the physical   
world." It was a leading statement, and for a moment neither   
Eternal spoke, obviously reluctant to reveal their powers and   
limitations. Vergere could sympathize: no matter what the   
circumstance, a thousand years of mistrusting outsiders wasn't easy   
to overcome, especially when that mistrust is entirely justified in   
most cases.  
  
"If she's going to help us," Oin said, "she has to know   
everything."  
  
"We have no power over solid matter, only fluid mass,   
liquids and gas. Even then we have our limits. This dome is   
maintained by a great many of us, exerting all our will. It will give   
way eventually."  
  
Vergere glanced at the flowing statues, then at the two   
Nesz. Dra appeared uncomfortable with all this: discussing the   
precise abilities and motives of his gods couldn't be very pleasant,   
especially for a being who, until not long ago, was just one of his   
tribes' hunters. Finally she glanced down at Stent, still unaware of   
what was going on around him. She approved: if the Eternals were   
upset now, it would be nothing compared to having the Chiss   
commander was up and active in their midst.  
  
"You mentioned knowing when and where there are aliens   
on this world. What about the Imperial pilots? Are they all safe?"  
  
"Yes, they will meet in your predetermined place in a little   
under an hour."  
  
"Then we have time to make a plan, but first I need more of   
an explanation. Who and what are you, exactly? What's your   
connection with the Nesz? Did you create them?"  
  
"No," the first Eternal said immediately, "or, well, yes I   
suppose you might think that, from a certain point of view..." If   
anything, the being seemed even more confused after trailing off.  
  
"We didn't create the Nesz," the second said, carefully but   
with some confidence, "they created us."  
  
Vergere blinked.  
  
"We made you?" Oin said, seemingly incredulous.   
Vergere narrowed her eyes slightly at his outburst.  
  
"How?" Dra gaped.  
  
The Eternals looked at each other, then at the Nesz and   
Jedi. "We are the Nesz, they are us. Every Nesz was, and will be,   
an Eternal. Every Eternal was, and will be, a Nesz."  
  
"Look around you, Jedi. Feel the Force on this world, truly   
feel it, see how different it is from what you know."  
  
Vergere closed her eyes, deadened her hearing, dampened   
the sensations received from her skin and feathers. She cut off all   
her senses and breathed in the life energy of Sevac III with no   
distractions.  
  
  
"Yes," she said softly, ?the Force is...different...here.   
There's a strange flavor to it, something I've never-" she opened   
her eyes. She had seen the Nesz and Eternals, really seen them   
for the first time. "I understand."  
  
"Then explain it to us!" Dra was practically pleading.  
  
"The Force is different here. It is why we evolved as we   
have, and it is why we Eternals are bound to this planet." The   
Eternal braced itself. "When a Nesz dies, that Nesz becomes one   
of us, an Eternal, but when a Nesz is conceived-"  
  
"One of you is bound to its flesh, becomes its...soul?"  
  
"We have no control over it," the Eternal nodded, "one   
moment, I am here, disembodied and existing only in the Force,   
the next I become...nothing. For an eternity darkness surrounds   
me, I see, feel, nothing. I float, I grow, eventually I sense the wall   
around me and the other beings beyond, but am too weak to break   
through. I grow, but to me it is the wall that contracts, pressing all   
around, suffocating. Then-" it jabbed with its snout, "I break   
through the shell, a Nesz infant. It has happened a thousand,   
thousand times. I remember nothing of my previous lives, I live   
and grow, one life a male, the next a female. Sometimes I live   
long and become and elder, other times I die young, in an accident   
of a sickness, but when I die I become, again, as I am now,   
remembering all my past lives.  
  
"Our memories stretch back to the very beginnings of the   
Nesz, but they are the memories of the newly-born: vague and   
clouded. Also, the Nesz weren't even close to sentient then, so   
neither were we. We were just animal minds drifting through the   
Force, waiting to live again. Of course, as the Nesz became more   
intelligent, so did we, until we were able to communicate with   
each other and our young ones.  
  
"Cooperation was instinctive, competition unheard of.   
Even when we were nonsentient we knew that to harm another   
Nesz was to harm yourself."  
  
"You guide and protect us," Oin said. "You have lived a   
thousand lives of experience."  
  
"But we must allow you the freedom to live their lives."   
The Eternal put in.  
  
"A symbiotic circle." Vergere marveled. "That's why the   
Nesz, a sentient species with no natural predators, have never   
endangered the planet with overbreeding: there are only a certain   
number of Eternals, so there can never be more than a certain   
number of Nesz living at once."  
  
"No," Dra shook his head, "wait, wait, if that's true then   
who am I? Just one link on a chain? I'll be someone I don't know   
after I die?" His one eye was wide, bulging. "I don't believe it," he   
shook his head, "nothing I've ever done matters!" He snapped his   
jaws together and glared fury at the Eternals "Why didn't you ever   
tell us?"  
  
  
"Child, please understand," the first Eternal was hesitant,   
uncomfortable, it sent calming waves through the Force at the   
distraught Nesz, "it was for just this reason that it was decided not   
to tell you: we knew you couldn't live your own lives with this   
knowledge shadowing you. It was decided long ago, you agreed,   
when you are one of us again you will understand."  
  
"Are we just a vacation to you?" Dra shouted back. "A   
game you play to pass the time? Live for a few decades, come   
back with some funny stories?" He sank to his knees and pressed   
his hands to his face. The first Eternal remained with him while   
the second drew Vergere and Oin aside to continue the   
conversation.  
  
"Somehow I don't think this came as much of a surprise to   
you," she said to Oin. The young Nesz drooped his snout a little.  
  
"We'd taken Oin into our confidence some time ago," the   
Eternal admitted, "he demanded answers after finding out the   
Imperials' intent toward our world, and we decided he could aid us   
best knowing the whole truth."  
  
"You chose well," she said wryly, "he's surprisingly good at   
keeping secrets. Even I underestimated him a few times." There   
was no anger in her tone and she rested a hand on his shoulder to   
let him know she understood: they might be friends, but his first   
loyalties were to his people. Oin flashed her a grateful look.  
  
"But what are these?" She indicated the water-born statues.   
"How do they fit into the equation?"  
  
"These are our art." The Eternal answered simply. "When   
we become Eternals again and suddenly remember all that we have   
been, it is like being born again. This is how we deal with the   
shock. What you see is our attempt to express those feelings. The   
swamps are full of them."  
  
Vergere looked back at the shifting objects and studied   
them for a moment. She had no great eye for art, but now that the   
Eternal had explained their purpose to her she could see some of   
the pattern. Mutable and shapeless, yet at the same time bound in   
one form. Not quite solid, not quite liquid, everything and nothing   
all in one.  
  
"Incredible. Are you making them move?"  
  
"No, when we shape them we infuse their substance with   
the emotions gripping us. They move accordingly forever after."  
  
"Do you know how your...cycle...came about? I can't think   
of any other race in the galaxy the Force has evolved in this way."  
  
  
"We'd determined the cause long ago," the Eternal   
answered, "the bora trees that grow almost everywhere on the   
planet, they somehow cause the distortion in the Force that allows   
us to exist in this form and to be reborn as Nesz. They're also   
responsible for the communal link that binds all of us together.   
The trees interact with and alter the life-energy naturally produced   
by every other living thing here." Vergere nodded, then felt her   
heart skip a beat as she realized something.  
  
"So what would happen," she asked casually, "if Nesz were   
transplanted from this planet? If they tried to live elsewhere?   
Could they survive?"  
  
"Yes, but no new Nesz would be born, not without us, and   
if a Nesz dies away from this planet then the soul can't rejoin us as   
an Eternal. It will go...wherever other beings go when they die."   
The Jedi felt cold, numb. It wouldn't matter if the Nesz were   
evacuated from Sevac III, within a generation they would be   
extinct.  
  
"You talked about cooperation," Vergere said abruptly,   
changing the subject, "what are you offering?"  
  
"We will hide the Imperial pilots from the invaders and   
provide what intelligence we can on their movements, in exchange   
you will help us drive them off. Are we agreed?"  
  
Vergere's naturally light avian body felt weightless, the   
numbing lack of sensation seemed to pervade her very soul.   
There's no hope, she thought, no matter what happens the   
innocent will be destroyed, and I can't protect them.  
  
"Agreed." She heard herself say.  
  
"She believes." The Eternal spoke in voice only Oin could hear.  
  
"I don't like continuing to deceive her." Oin whispered.  
  
"There is no other option," it said firmly, "If she knew our real  
plan, she would never go along with it."  
  
***********************************************  
Wras angled his tsik vai into the wind and soared high   
above the new seed world. A cognition hood covered his head and   
linked him to the living ship, made it an extension of his own   
body. He didn't see through his glowing red eyes, but through the   
tsik vai's powerful visual sensors at the fore and aft of the ship. He   
wore vonduun shell armor, his new amphistaff was curled around   
his waist and his masked helmet was nestled securely under the   
seat. His hands were folded over his stomach, he controlled the   
ship with his mind alone.  
  
He flew through the night and searched the swamps for any   
sign of the infidels, those ignorant fools who were once his   
comrades. That was another lifetime ago, and Wras had now   
embraced the one truth. The others, the Imperials and his once-  
brother Chiss would do the same. They would all come to serve   
the gods, with their lives or with their deaths. Either way was just   
as good.  
  
Wras turned the tsik vai as easily as he moved his own   
body, his new and improved body. It was a fine creature in an   
atmosphere, but Wras preferred the spacegoing coralskippers.   
Under the hood, he grinned slightly, remembering the battle over   
the skies of the seed world, when the Yuuzhan Vong had crushed   
the infidels who dared profane what the gods and the Overlord had   
given to Yun Yuuzhan's children. He savored the memory of   
combat and lusted for a chance to deliver more of his enemies to   
the gods.  
  
  
They were proud memories as well: since Wras knew what   
the Imperial fighters were capable of and how the pilots were   
likely to react, he had been put in command of a wing of   
coralskippers sent to engage the TIEs. It would have been a grand   
victory, if the cowards had not broken off the fight and gone to   
ground. Now they crawled like maggots, hiding in the dirt instead   
of facing their enemies in glorious battle.  
  
There was little chance of locating anything in the dark, not   
when the Imperials had managed to evade all their searcher so far,   
and that in broad daylight, but there was one service to the gods he   
could provide, something long overdue.  
  
The tsik vai flew over the treetops. Wras frowned, much of   
the life on the seed world was disobedient and stubborn: it had not   
yet learned its place, but it would. The Yuuzhan Vong would   
shape this world's life to their will, as all life everywhere would   
and must be shaped.  
  
At last he came to hover over his target: the patch of land   
where the Imperials had landed their TIE Interceptors and   
Daggers. The Prefect had been preoccupied so far, but now it was   
time to clear away this blight on the seed world.  
  
Wras focused his plasma cannons on the machines, on the   
mockers and senseless destroyers of life, and loosed Yun   
Yammka's fire on them.  
  
Balls of plasma impacted, and the night was lit by   
expanding domes of fire. He loosed another volley, and another,   
spherical cockpits collapsed and solar panels bent under the impact   
and still Wras continued. He would reduce the machines to dust,   
until the TIEs were nothing but minerals to enrich the soil. One   
solar panel, twisted and blackened, spun through the air, trailing   
flame. The once-Chiss grinned and felt his heart soar closer to the   
gods with every act of destruction.  
  
***********************************************  
Vergere calmly stepped to the bank of the swamp and   
looked around. The stars were out, shining down on the worlds of   
the galaxy, the unspoiled and the polluted, the living and the dead,   
indifferent to the powers that battled to control them.  
  
Stent leapt to shore, so eager to get on dry land without the   
weight of a lake pressing on his head that he briefly abandoned his   
Chiss dignity. He pulled himself together instantly, though, once   
he was a few steps away from the water.  
  
"Well," he demanded, "which way do your ghosts say to   
go?" He hadn't listened as closely to the Eternals' explanations as   
Vergere had, once they had allowed him to waken. His main   
concern had been to get nothing between him and the sky but air.   
Only now could he begin to assimilate the strategic value of having   
the Eternals on their side. "Where are the rest of my pilots?" He   
was anxious and trying his best to cover it up. Vergere couldn't   
blame him: she'd had to use a couple of calming exercises herself   
while the two of them were being drawn up through the swamp in   
a bubble of air.  
  
  
Oin and Dra were waiting for them on the shore. The Nesz   
had simply swam up to the surface.  
  
Vergere made to shake her feathers and robe, an avian   
reflex and unnecessary: none of the water had adhered to either of   
them.  
  
"Not far," she turned to the Nesz, "how do you feel?" She   
asked Dra.  
  
The hunter raised his head, his single eye was flat and hard.   
"Like I should have let water into my lungs, but I don't know what   
I'd become if I did."  
  
"You'll get used to it," Oin assured him, "when they told   
me-"  
  
"You be quiet!" He spun and snapped his jaws at Oin. The   
other Nesz jumped back in shock. "You've spied on your own   
people! You've known all this and kept it secret from all of us!"   
He looked ready to tear Oin apart with his bare hands. Of course,   
Dra would feel every wound himself, but in this state he didn't   
care.  
  
Vergere stepped toward him and sent out calming waves   
through the Force. "I know how hard all this must be for you, but   
this isn?t the time."  
  
"I've had enough of your interference." Dra hissed "You're worse   
than Oin. You promise hope, make us help and trust you, but   
you've done nothing but make things worse!"  
  
Stent stood aside, red eyes narrowed in irritation. He   
Couldn't understand the Nesz language and was uninterested in   
whatever was eating the one-eyed Nesz, but he had a more   
pragmatic solution to reasoning with the creature, not when his   
men needed him. He calmly drew his blaster and set it for STUN.  
  
No. The mental command paralyzed his hand and arm.   
He looked from his unresponsive arm to the Jedi's violet eyes.  
  
Dra had gone silent, glaring at everything around him.   
Abruptly he dropped to his knees, then sat down on the grass.  
  
"Well?" Oin ventured. "What are you going to do?" Dra   
clenched his claws, then relaxed, slumping his shoulders forward.  
  
"What can I do?" He got up and paced a little. "I'm the   
leader of my people, I have to fight for them," he said with   
resolution, "I just don't know what I'm fighting for anymore, my   
people or bodies for the Eternals." He turned around. "All right,   
lets-Uh!" He jerked forward, single eye bulging and muscles   
jerking stiff. He bent his long neck down to look at the amphistaff   
tail that protruded from his chest. A trembling hand reached up to   
touch the point. A humanoid shape stood behind him.  
  
"No!" Oin voice, raised in horror.  
  
Vergere felt the shock through the Force and spun, violet   
eyes blazing, even before hearing Oin. Behind Dra, Nom Anor   
braced his foot on Dra?s back and shoved the Nesz off his weapon.   
He tumbled to the ground, trembling, then stilled.  
  
"Hello again, Jedi." Nom Anor smirked.  
  
Oin howled in rage and bounded forward, teeth and claws   
bared.  
  
"Oin, no!" Vergere drew and ignited her lightsaber. In the   
violet light, she saw Nom Anor swing his amphistaff and knock   
Oin's feet out from under him. He stepped forward and placed his   
foot on Oin's neck.  
  
"Tell me Jedi," Nom Anor jerked his head back in Dra's   
direction, "was that the slave I saw before, the one on the Star   
Destroyer? Is it this one?" He tapped Oin's nose with his   
amphistaff. "Or did it end its life?" Oin twisted his neck and tried   
to bite Nom Anor's foot, but the Yuuzhan Vong simply shifted   
more weight to the foot pressing the Nesz down. "Not that it really   
matters," he continued, not sparing Oin a glance, "they'll all go to   
the gods once I?m finished with you."  
  
He looked over Vergere?s shoulder and the Jedi felt a wave   
of shock and fear from Stent. Slowly, she turned her head and saw   
the Chiss commander was standing more ridged than usual, most   
likely because of the Yuuzhan Vong who had come up behind him   
and was holding the razor-edge of an amphistaff under his chin.   
The alien said something at Stent.  
  
"She says to drop your weapon," Nom Anor translated, "I   
have to apologize for my friend here, she doesn't speak Basic."  
  
"And what, be your prisoner?" Stent ground out. "I know   
how you treat captives. I'd sooner be dead." Nom Anor shrugged   
and said something to the other Yuuzhan Vong, but before she   
could slash her amphistaff across his throat Vergere swung her   
lightsaber backwards and overhead. The energy blade knocked the   
serpent's tail away. Vergere followed through with a kick to the   
alien's midsection. She tumbled backwards, almost fell, and Stent   
jumped away from the both of them.  
  
Vergere spun away from the female and launched herself at   
Nom Anor, her weapon an arc of violet light. The young Yuuzhan   
Vong leapt back and brought his amphistaff to a guard position,   
but the force of the blow still made him stagger backward. Oin   
rolled away the second the pressure was off his neck. He looked at   
the Jedi in amazement.  
  
Nom Anor instantly realized two things he had missed in   
the dark. First, the Jedi was amazingly strong, seeing as by all   
rights she should be half-dead from the wound he'd given her.   
Secondly, and far more alarming, she was furious.  
  
  
Vergere's eyes snapped with fire, her feathers bristled,   
making her robes bulge, and it was all Nom Anor could do to   
block her lightsaber. The Fosh drove him back, seeming to be   
everywhere at once. A kick knocked him off his feet, he rolled   
with the fall and nearly lost his head to a downward arc of the   
lightsaber. He managed to get his feet under him again, but the   
violet blade didn't let up for an instant. Nom Anor blocked a   
portion of her strikes, but a good many got through. Only his   
armor saved him from going down in the first few seconds of the   
fight.  
  
No, it'd be a joke to call this a fight. He felt his armor   
scream in pain as Vergere cut into the shell guarding his right   
upper arm. Nom Anor pivoted his upper body before the   
lightsaber could severe his limb. He turned completely around,   
speared his amphistaff backwards in her general direction and   
broke into a run. He gnashed his teeth in shame, but what could he   
do? He was no match for a Jedi, not when she was healthy, and   
this was the first time he had seen her give herself completely to   
battle. She was fighting like a Yuuzhan Vong!  
  
Behind him, Vergere jumped forward, nearly three meters   
off the ground, landed on a bora tree's branch and jumped again.   
She spun through the air, a blurred ball of dun with a violet edge,   
and landed in front of Nom Anor, blade aimed at his throat.  
  
Nom Anor stopped but momentum propelled him forward.   
He arced his back, bent back his head to keep from running into   
her lightsaber. Vergere advanced, he backed away, swung his   
amphistaff across his face to try and knock the lightsaber away.   
The Jedi parried the blow and pointed her blade back at his neck   
before he could blink.  
  
"The great Yuuzhan Vong," she seethed. The amphistaff   
darted forward, curving around her lightsaber to bite her. Vergere   
caught the snake's neck, just under the head, and pulled it away   
from Nom Anor. She snapped its neck with a twist of her arm and   
flung the amphistaff into the grass, then she swung her lightsaber   
out and down at the invader's knees. Nom Anor fell, landed on his   
back, and when he looked up the Jedi's blade was still a hair's   
length from his neck.  
  
She kept walking forward, one slow step after another, and   
Nom Anor was reduced to scooting backward with his feet and   
elbows, his wounded armor protesting every move. "Not so great   
when the infidels fight back, are you?" Her voice was soft, tightly   
controlled, and all the more dangerous due to the fury lurking just   
beneath. For the first time in a long time, Nom Anor was terrified,   
not of dying, but of the storming, chaotic power that seemed to   
crackle the air around the Jedi, that raged behind her eyes and that   
she seemed to exhale with every breath. His shoulders bumped   
into a tree trunk and suddenly he had no place to crawl to. The   
Jedi stood over him, saber in hand.  
  
Vergere knew the dark side was close, and she didn't care.   
Dra was right, she was useless: all she'd ever done was interfere,   
and for what? Dra had died not three paces from her and she'd   
done nothing.  
  
All those years of suffering, followed by three years alone   
with no one to turn to for help, and for what? What good had she   
really done?  
  
  
What was she even fighting for? The peoples of the   
Unknown Regions? They were ruled by greed and fear, they   
would as soon kill her and pick whatever valuables they could find   
from her bones as look at her. The peoples of the Empire? They   
would kill any Jedi on sight for their Sith masters. The Nesz were   
the only beings who had shown her any charity, who had any   
worth, and she couldn't even help them. She had offered them up   
to Thrawn, and he would slaughter them all to save those beings   
who would kick her in the face for her sacrifices.  
  
She was so tired! Tired of fighting, of running, of trying   
to live up to the ideals of an order that was long-dead. What did it   
matter if she let the dark side have her? The Jedi were dead, the   
Nesz would be gone soon, more than half her life had been spent in   
the blackest of hells for no purpose, and the weight of her own   
guilt for innumerable deeds and failings threatened to crush her   
soul every day. Failing Dra, so soon after losing Master Yoda, had   
been the final straw.  
  
The dark side beckoned, and it was tempting to embrace   
what it offered: power without consequences, abandoning all   
burdens and responsibilities, all guilt. Life would become   
infinitely simple if she could just forget about fighting for a   
hopeless cause and focus on killing her enemies.  
  
Yes, and who best to start off with than Nom Anor? He'd   
hounded her, murdered Dra and taken away her chance to redeem   
Drash Tevock, a young Force-sensitive man of incredible potential.   
Well, Tevock was most likely dead by now. Another hope   
vanished. She'd kill Nom Anor for that, but most of all she'd do it   
because losing him would hurt Sang Anor, and Vergere wanted to   
make him suffer.  
  
Vergere looked into Nom Anor's bulging eyes. She held   
her blade with steady hands, the tip almost brushed the young   
invader's neck, and she stepped back.  
  
"No," she hissed, "I wont let you win. Not like this." She   
couldn't sense Nom Anor's confusion, but it was written clearly on   
his face. He was on his feet instantly, he tried to run but the Jedi   
backed him into the tree again. "You've taken everything else, but   
you can't take my soul." It was the hardest thing she'd ever done,   
but she willed the anger away and sought peace in the Force.   
"That, I have to give away," the dark energy that had loomed   
oppressively around her, seeking entry into her mind and heart,   
slowly dissipated, withdrawing back into the Force, "and you're not   
worth it." She could swear she felt a trace of disappointment from   
the power she'd rejected.  
  
Nom Anor looked at something behind Vergere. That was   
all the warning the Jedi got and more than she needed. She spun   
and brought up her blade to block the other Yuuzhan Vong's   
amphistaff. She leapt and spun, aimed a side-kick at the alien's   
head. The invader went down, and Vergere turned and cut into   
Nom Anor's armor again as he tried to attack from behind.  
  
  
He backed away, the other Yuuzhan Vong stood, and   
Vergere faced them both. Nom Anor was armed only with a   
coufee and moving stiffly because of his injured armor. He glared   
at her with helpless rage.  
  
"Two against one," the other Yuuzhan Vong hissed at him   
in their own language. "We can still take her."  
  
"The odds are a little better than that." Oin came up beside   
Vergere. He spoke in Basic, but though the alien didn't understand   
the words she comprehended the spear that sprouted in the   
marshland before her feet. Reptilian shaped dropped from the   
trees and rose from the grass, and the two extragalactics were   
surrounded by a dozen armed and angry Nesz.  
  
"I wish you'd told me we could expect reinforcements."   
Stent spoke up.  
  
"Don't you like surprises." Oin's gaze never left the two   
cornered aliens, and there was death in his eyes. Vergere lowered   
her lightsaber and exhaled slowly.  
  
"You made the right choice."  
  
The voice in her head was familiar, yet changed in some   
way that made it impossible to identify immediately. She glanced   
at the Eternal that materialized beside her, the more recent features   
it had worn were still prominent, even though it now had two eyes.   
Oin and the other Nesz kept their weapons ready, but held   
themselves in check in deference to the Eternal. Stent swallowed   
nervously at seeing the shade appear.  
  
"Dra," she breathed, "I hadn't realized that you would..."   
she trailed off.  
  
"Yes," the newborn Eternal said, "Dra, that was my name.   
I've had a thousand names before that one, but for convenience   
sake you may continue to call me Dra."  
  
"Are you well?"  
  
"I don't know yet, I was so surprised when it happened." A   
semitransparent hand brushed his chest. "So afraid I would   
become something different, something I didn't understand. I am   
still Dra, but I am...more...as well." He seemed to shake himself.   
"But it's nothing I haven't done before. I should be asking about   
you." He stepped-floated forward. "You were the one in real peril   
just now."  
  
Vergere nodded. "I never knew the dark side could strike   
so quickly, and with no warning."  
  
"No, this has been building in you for a long time, chipping   
away at you. You did well, though. In the days of the Old   
Republic, I believe you would need to seek out a Master for   
guidance right now. Unfortunately, the lack of other Jedi is   
another of those problems you need to work through."  
  
  
The Jedi nodded, for the first time she understood that this   
was a being with millennia of experience in matters of the soul.  
  
"What do we do with them?" Oin suddenly asked the   
Eternal.  
  
Vergere looked from Oin to Nom Anor, who glared at her   
warily. The Yuuzhan Vong couldn't sense the Force, so they   
couldn't see or hear the beings who lived in that energy field. To   
his senses she was looking at and speaking to thin air.  
  
"Why do you ask me?" Dra responded.  
  
Oin blinked. "You lead the Nesz."  
  
"I did. No longer. That burden falls to you now."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
The Eternal smiled. "Because you have it within you.   
You've proven yourself a hundred times by now."  
  
"But how do I know what to do?"  
  
"Listen to the Jedi." Dra advised as he began fading away.   
"She can guide you." Then he was gone, and it was only thin air   
they saw.  
  
"Well?" Oin asked after a moment. "What do you think we   
should with them, Vergere?" The expression on his face   
proclaimed what he wanted. "Take them captive?" He said   
reluctantly. "They might tell us about their stronghold."  
  
"No." Vergere turned from Oin's eyes to Nom Anor's, both   
gazes so full of hate. "We'd get no information from them. We   
don?t have the time and resources to take captives, and they'd be a   
constant threat. She met Nom Anor's eyes. "We kill them both."   
Not for revenge, not for the dark side, but because it was the only   
option. And to keep him from doing any more evil.  
  
"Bloodthirsty, aren't we?" Stent muttered.  
  
Vergere ignored him and raised her lightsaber. "Tell the   
Nesz to back away, Oin. I'll handle this. These two wont go down   
without a fight, and there's no need to lose any more Nesz than you   
have to."  
  
Nom Anor shoved past the other alien, staggering with his   
armor's wounds. He might not understand the Nesz language, but   
he could understand the look in Vergere's eyes easily enough.  
  
  
"Come on then. You and these slaves will be following me   
to the gods' banquet soon," he snarled, "Sang Anor will see to it."  
  
Vergere took a step towards them, and comets of plasma   
impacted the ground beside her and threw drops of liquid flame in   
all directions in a sunburst of light that turned midnight to noon.   
More arrows of fire were lancing down, crowning the trees with   
fire.  
  
Nesz were screaming, scaled bodies ran and dove for cover.   
Vergere leapt away from the blast, turning her head and throwing   
up her arm just in time to save her face from anything worse than   
scotched feathers. Flaming plasma touched the sleeve of her robe,   
clung and spread. She beat her arm against a bora tree and looked   
up at the night sky. "How-"  
  
Then she looked at her lightsaber, practically a beacon to a   
night flier. I'm a fool! She cursed herself as she deactivated the   
weapon and hooked it to her belt. The charred corpse of a Nesz   
was smoking at her feet. Will my mistakes always kill my   
friends? She caught sight of Stent, crouched low to the ground   
and zig zagging away from the points of impact.  
  
"This way!" Oin shouted. "Everyone! This way! Follow   
my voice!" Vergere used the Force to get a lock on him and trailed   
his position, then sent a mental command to Stent, telling him to   
do the same. As she ran she glanced around quickly, but could see   
no sign of the two Yuuzhan Vong, and she couldn't use the Force   
to locate them.  
  
Nom Anor had escaped.  
  
***********************************************  
Wras laughed out loud at his good fortune. He hadn't   
imagined he would come across any infidels, yet there it was: a   
point of violet light almost like a target. The gods truly must favor   
him. He sent volleys of plasma down at the light source and at the   
surrounding area.  
  
Hovering high above, he could see the flames spread like a   
brilliant stain, over the trees and across the grass like a brilliant   
topographical portrait of light.  
  
It was a great disappointment when the tsisk vai could no   
longer fire.  
  
His jaw dropped. He tried to will another blast, but it was   
like an amputee trying to command a missing limb. It took a   
second to realize he'd exhausted the ship?s supply of plasma.  
  
Wras cursed and pounded his fist against his knee. There   
was nothing left to shoot, and even if there was the fire was   
confusing the ship's heat sensors. Muttering angrily, he turned the   
ship back toward the Yuuzhan Vong settlement. He would return   
with fresh plasma, and more living vessels.  
  
The infidels weren't long for this world.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Later, when they could stop to breathe, Oin drew Vergere   
aside to speak with her. Stent saw them and joined in. They   
would make no plans without him. Oin glanced at the Chiss and   
spoke to Vergere in Basic.  
  
"The invader who killed Dra, he was the same one from the   
Star Destroyer. You two know each other."  
  
"Yes," Vergere nodded, "for some time. His father leads   
the Yuuzhan Vong in this galaxy."  
  
"He hates you." Oin pointed out.  
  
"He has reason to." Vergere hesitated, but if there was ever   
a time to tell the full story, this was it. "I killed his mother."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven  
  
Author's note:  
  
A major problem with this story, from my point of view anyway, is   
the scene in "Hero's Trial" when Nom Anor meets Vergere, which   
invalidates most of my work.  
  
To addressing this: I imagine Vergere altered her appearance   
somewhat over the twenty-plus year period between the two stories   
to the point where Nom Anor is unable to recognize her (besides,   
not to give too much away, but by the end of this duology he'll   
have good reason to believe she's dead).  
  
As for why he doesn't recognize her name, simple: he doesn't   
know it. In case you didn?t notice, no Yuuzhan Vong has ever   
called Vergere by name in this duology. Either she gave them a   
phony name when she was first captured or the Yuuzhan Vong   
never bothered to ask her name in the first place.  
  
I hope this clears things up. Happy reading!  
  
  
  
Nom Anor rammed his fist into a bora tree as he hacked the   
last of the smoke from his lungs. The living gauntlet groaned in   
protest. He gnashed his teeth and punched the tree six or seven   
more times in rapid succession, until he felt the glove crack.  
  
Much of his armor was dead or dying already: the segments   
no longer moved with him like a second skin but hung like dead   
weight. None of the cuts from the Jedi's lightsaber had gotten   
through to Nom Anor's flesh, but many had pierced the vonduun   
shell to wound and kill the membrane-thin organs beneath. He   
flexed his fingers and watched with disgust as bits of shell fell to   
the ground, then he braced both hands against the trunk and rested   
his forehead against the tree.  
  
He heard Ceis Grasm moving behind him, but didn't turn   
around. The Yuuzhan Vong female pulled off her helmet and ran   
a gauntlet-covered hand through her hair. "Well?" She asked   
lightly. "This is your mission, where do we go from here?"  
  
Nom Anor bit back a few choice words about where she   
could go and considered the question.  
  
"Back to the seeding grounds," he finally said, "we need   
more warriors, and a new trasedak." The tracker he'd worn had   
been suffocated by the smoke while they were fleeing the fire that   
still raged to the south. Without it he had no way to track the Jedi.  
  
Not that finding her would do me any good. He thought   
bitterly. How by all the gods had she recovered so fast? He'd   
almost disemboweled her just hours before! Well, first thing's   
first: new armor, a new amphistaff, and reinforcements. Then he   
needed a plan. A better one than running after her through the   
swamp.  
  
A plan...but what was the Jedi planning? Coming here,   
saving the stranded Imperials and helping the slaves, why? Did   
she have some goal in mind? Nom Anor felt certain he could   
defeat the Jedi if he could figure that out. He might not be able to   
outfight her, but if he could outthink her...  
  
"That's too bad." Ceis Grasm said reluctantly. "I was   
really enjoying this," she smiled, "you're fun to be around, but the   
Prefect's orders were very clear, you're not to come back."  
  
Nom Anor froze, then chuckled as he turned from the tree.   
"Of course, I was wondering when we'd get around to this." The   
subaltern had drawn her coufee and was balancing the blade in one   
hand. Her amphistaff she left twined around her arm and   
shoulders. "By the way, is there any particular reason for this?"  
  
"Just following orders," she shrugged, "I apologize, by the   
way, for interfering in your fight with the jeedai. What was it   
you said as we were closing in on them: "She's mine, you take the   
other infidel and the slave, but leave her to me.'" Ceis Grasm   
grinned. "Sorry I got in your way, I saw you had the situation well   
in hand."  
  
Nom Anor's mouth twitched as he unsheathed his own   
coufee. "I'm really going to enjoy this."  
  
"In all honesty, I doubt it." Ceis Grasm took a thud bug   
from her bandolier and tossed it at Nom Anor. The creature didn't   
streak to impact him, but flew in a slow arc. Nom Anor watched,   
confused, then understood. He tried to jump out of the way, but   
the round ball of chitin exploded, covering him with a thin, red   
mist. He fell as his armor locked around him, paralyzed by the   
agent in the mist.  
  
The impact knocked the wind out of him as he landed on   
his shoulder and fell face-up. He struggled to move his arms, his   
legs, to expand his chest, but the armor was as unresponsive and   
inflexible as coat of durasteel. He was able to get some movement   
due to the injuries in the vonduun shells, but it amounted to   
plaintive wiggling.  
  
He turned his head to see Ceis Grasm kneeling over him,   
her coufee inches away from his face. "That was a catalyst," she   
explained, "it reacted with a formula I treated your armor joints   
with while you were being blessed by the priest."  
  
"Looks like I underestimated the Prefect," Nom Anor licked   
his lips, "he wasn't quite the fool I thought."  
  
Ceis Grasm shrugged. "Like I said, it was nice knowing   
you." She drew back the blade. "I'll give your regards to the   
Executor-" a rustling sound behind her. She paused and Nom Anor   
looked past her into the trees.  
  
"You've got more pressing problems." He said.  
  
"I think you're right." Her free hand crept across her body   
and took a razorbug from her bandolier. "I'll get back to you in a   
second." She spun and threw the blade-edged bug at the sound.   
The slave-creature lost an arm for its carelessness. It screeched in   
rage and surprise, then it and its three friends charged.  
  
Ceis Grasm was up, amphistaff ready, and bounded   
forward to meet them.  
  
Nom Anor had seconds and he knew it. There were some   
especially deep cuts in the vonduun shell covering his right arm,   
and he redoubled his efforts at moving that limb. The links on the   
stubborn armor refused to release. "Come on," he hissed through   
clenched teeth, threw back his head and squeezed his eyes shut.   
After an eternity of seconds he heard a small but wonderful series   
of cracks at his right shoulder, elbow and wrist as all resistance   
gave way.  
  
  
He could move his right arm, the dead shell segments   
sliding and turning awkwardly on his upper and lower arms and   
elbow. He felt a laugh bubble up in his throat. Thank you, Jedi!   
he thought. The irony! The wounds she'd inflicted on his armor   
might have saved him. His gauntlet was still frozen, so he brought   
his right hand to his mouth, bit down on two fingers and pulled and   
wiggled with his wrist. In moments he had worked his hand free.   
He threw the gauntlet aside and attacked the links on his other   
arm. He opened and closed his mouth a few times to make sure he   
hadn't dislocated his jaw.  
  
He checked on Ceis Grasm's progress. She was a skilled   
fighter, but these slaves didn't care if they died, so long as they   
took a Yuuzhan Vong with them. A shadow fell over Nom Anor,   
he looked up into a reptile's hate-filled eyes. He twisted his head   
to the left just in time to avoid the spear it aimed at his face.  
  
The point sank into the soft ground, and when the reptile   
tried to pull it out Nom Anor heaved his body and lashed out with   
his free arm. He clutched the slave's ankle, sank his claws into the   
tendon and pulled. The hamstrung slave fell backward, regained   
its balance and managed to fall forward instead, on top of Nom   
Anor. Snapping jaws and reptilian claws scrambled over his body,   
but the immobile armor protected him.  
  
Then the red, tooth-lined tunnel of the slave's jaw was   
rushing toward his face. Nom Anor managed to get his forearm   
between the slave's mouth and his face. It bit down on the dead   
armor, pushing at Nom Anor. He managed to fling his arm and the   
slave attached away from him, knocking the back of the slave's   
head against the ground. The jaws loosened for a moment, long   
enough for Nom Anor to pull his arm from the thing's mouth and   
wrap his free limb around its neck. He heaved his left shoulder up,   
got some weight behind his arm, and snapped the slave's neck.  
  
Nom Anor shoved the dead body away and resumed his   
work on the links. He freed his left arm and pulled off the   
remaining gauntlet. Now with both arms, he began pulling shell   
segments from his chest, shoulder and abdomen. He tore at the leg   
joints. Seconds later he was free and on his feet again.  
  
He looked to Ceis Grasm. It seemed the tide had turned   
against her. The one-armed slave, already dying of blood loss, was   
wrestling with her amphistaff. The other two had charged her,   
bore her to the ground, trying to bite and claw through her armor.  
  
Nom Anor frowned, considering the situation. After a few   
seconds he ran toward the struggling fighters.  
  
*********************************************  
  
"I apologize, Executor, I've kept you waiting." Ke'Nass   
smiled at the villip. "But you must realize my many duties prevent   
me from rushing to report to you whenever you choose to call.   
The infidels and slaves that infest our seed world, for instance."  
  
"Oh, quite all right Prefect." Sang Anor said pleasantly. "I   
didn't check in for a report anyway."  
  
"Really?" Ke'Nass raised a brow-ridge. "Enlighten me   
then, how may this humble subordinate serve you?" Irony dripped   
from his tone.  
  
"I have need of the desk hai." He said without preamble.   
Ke'Nass blinked.  
  
"So soon? I understood it would be years before they had   
to be deployed." The shapers in the asteroid belt have been   
working on them, but they were never a high priority. "There can't   
be more than ten of them."  
  
"Eight, to be precise, but that is more than enough to suit   
my purposes. As I said, I have need of them. Immediately."  
  
"Of course," Ke'Nass shrugged, but inwardly he smiled,   
whatever folly Sang Anor was planning, this was just the   
opportunity the Prefect needed to discredit him in the eyes of their   
superiors. Ke'Nass would make certain the Executor wouldn't get   
those desk hai, would delay their preparation by every means at his   
disposal, and when Sang Anor fell Ke'Nass would finally be free to   
take his rightful place!  
  
"You have to realize, though, that it will take some time to   
fit the desk hai with dovin basals, not to mention imprinting your   
instructions into their brains. I assure you, however, that I will do   
everything possible to see them delivered to their task. Now, what   
instructions should I have the shapers imprint them with?"  
  
"You misunderstand," Sang Anor chuckled, "I am telling   
you this as a courtesy, not to ask for your aid. I've contacted the   
attending shapers already, the desk hai have just been sent on their   
way."  
  
  
Ke'Nass opened his mouth, but no words came out. He   
didn't think he'd ever been this angry in his life, his entire body   
had gone numb, cold. The kind of cold that burns. "You," he   
finally said, "dare!"  
  
"Is there a problem, Prefect?"  
  
"The seed world is my responsibility!" He all but   
screamed at the villip. "My jurisdiction! You said so yourself!"   
That pompous, arrogant, smug spawn of ngdins! He assigns   
Ke'Nass to this worthless backwater, wastes his valuable talents   
and abilities, and then as the final insult, Sang Anor goes over his   
head and usurps what little authority he retains! "Any orders   
regarding the seed world must go through me!"  
  
"True," Sang Anor replied pleasantly, "you administer the   
seed world, but the desk hai were made in the asteroid belt. Your   
authority ends at the planets atmosphere so you see, I have not   
overstepped my bounds. The shapers working in the asteroid belt   
have always reported directly to me." The villip assumed a   
confused expression. "I would have though you knew that, seeing   
as you've never received a report from them."  
  
Reports? Bile rose in Ke'Nass' throat. Who had time for   
reports? They never concerned anything interesting or important:   
progress on the various Yuuzhan Vong creatures being grown and   
requests by the overseers for more slaves to tend their particular   
area. That sort of thing. Truthfully he hadn't bothered listening to   
a one in weeks, he'd just let them pile up in a storage villip. His   
subordinates could handle whatever minor problems arose in   
seeding grounds on their own.  
  
"Anyway, I'm glad that's settled." Sang Anor's tone   
concluded the subject and packed in away. "By the way, how is   
Nom Anor doing?"  
  
The last question caught him off guard. Did the Executor   
know what he'd planned? No, he couldn't possibly, Ke'Nass was   
far too intelligent for anyone to see through him.  
  
"He still hunts your Jeedai," he stumbled over the infidel   
word, "I expect him back soon enough."  
  
"Tell him to contact me when he does. Goodbye Prefect,   
and continue your good work." The villip inverted. Ke'Nass   
looked down at the head-sized creature for a moment. He didn't   
move, didn't speak.  
  
  
Then he roared, raised a clenched fist over his head and   
brought it down on the leathery sphere with all his considerable   
strength. The villip flattened and splattered across the table as the   
membrane broke, and Ke'Nass continued to pound it and the table   
with both fists.  
  
When there was nothing solid left of the villip he   
overturned the table and kicked the living piece of furniture across   
the room. Sang Anor had done it to him again! He thought he   
was so clever, so smart, well Ke'Nass would show him! He   
suddenly grinned. Sang Anor wanted him to continue his good   
work? Fine. He would eliminate the infidels and rebellious slaves   
this very night, and no matter what happened, that boy of his   
wouldn't leave this world alive. They would both pay for mocking   
him.  
  
Prefect Ke'Nass was no one's fool!  
  
***********************************************  
"That was stupid of you." Ceis Grasm said when they   
stopped to rest. There were no signs of natives around them and it   
felt safe to talk. "So why aid me?"  
  
"Subaltern, I'm offended." Nom Anor theatrically placed a   
hand over his bare chest. He had shed most of his dead and useless   
armor by now, leaving him little more than his own scarred skin.   
"You think I'd see a fellow Yuuzhan Vong subjected to the   
indignity of being torn apart by infidel slaves?"  
  
"And that was your only motivation?" She crossed her   
arms, and inhaled sharply as Nom Anor abruptly discarded his   
offhand manner. His eyes turned cold and predatory, seemed to   
drill into her forehead.  
  
"No," he said softly, "Truthfully, I think I had another reason for not   
wanting you in a reptile's belly." In the space between two   
heartbeats his right arm reached out, gripped the back of her neck   
and pulled her forward. His mouth gaped open, sharp teeth bared,   
and closed on hers. The taste of blood filled his veins with fire.  
  
  
Two seconds later Ceis Grasm shoved him away with both   
hands, with such force that he nearly fell. But she had waited a   
second more than she had to before pushing him back. There were   
bleeding gashes around her mouth that would quickly become new   
scars. The subaltern's eyes took on a wild quality. Quick as a   
striking amphistaff she stepped forward and struck with her own   
claws. The blow tore three furrows in Nom Anor's face and nearly   
cracked his neck.  
  
He slowly turned his head back to her, blood welled from   
his wounds, his face twitched as if mini-jolts of electricity stung   
the muscles. Ceis Grasm watched him, breathing heavily, gripped   
by some raw emotion. She looked from him to her bloody hand,   
then slowly ran her tongue across the crimson-spiced fingers. The   
intensity in her face doubled, then redoubled. Her lips twitched up   
in a grin.  
  
Nom Anor sprang forward, took her by the waist and   
slammed her back against a tree trunk. Her claws raked him. He   
caught her wrists in one hand and attacked the joining-places on   
her armor so he could return the sentiment.  
  
For a long time the only sounds in the darkness were soft   
grunts, low moans and the occasional hiss as pleasure and pain   
became one.  
  
***********************************************  
"Lyrra Anor was a Shaper," Vergere said as they trudged   
through the swamp, "one of exceptional talents. She was promoted   
to master-level shortly after Nom Anor was born, that's why they   
only have one child: master shapers aren't permitted to breed."  
  
"One is more than enough." Stent muttered under his   
breath.  
  
"I'll give her this: Lyrra Anor had a rare love of knowledge.   
It was almost a hunger with her, and she took not knowing the   
deepest secrets of how anything and everything around her worked   
as a personal offense. Eventually her obsessions settled on me:   
most of the shapers had given up on studying me decades ago, not   
her. Five years before my escape I was put in Sang Anor's   
keeping, he immediately placed me in her custody." The Jedi   
shivered at memories of all she'd suffered under that eight-fingered   
hand.  
  
  
"For five years she ruled my life. She was determined to   
find the secret of my power, and she dug deep. She put me   
through trials, analyzed samples of my cells, even modified the   
ancient protocols all shapers follow to better understand me." She   
grimaced. "That's not really permitted, but neither was her cross-  
caste bonding with Sang Anor. Those two had a lot in common:   
they made their own rules, and Force help anyone who got in their   
way.  
  
"It took time, but eventually she found something the others   
missed." Vergere went on. "Like I said, she was a clever one.   
Nom Anor inherited some aptitude for shaping from her and she   
encouraged the interest, taught him a few secrets. From some   
things I overheard I even believe she implanted him with a Vaa-  
tumor once." It didn't occur to her that neither of her companions   
had the slightest idea what a 'Vaa-tumor' was.  
  
"Vergere," Oin prompted, "you were talking about what this   
invader did to you?" Stent grunted something about prattling,   
feather-brained avian sorcerers.  
  
"Uh, yes," Vergere nodded uneasily. She had   
unconsciously tried to change the subject: these were still   
unpleasant memories for her. "On examining my cells, she   
discovered the existence of midi-chlorians."  
  
"Midi-whats?" Stent asked.  
  
"Midi-chlorians. They're a secret of the Jedi. I probably   
shouldn't be telling you about them, but seeing there are no Jedi to   
worry about betraying I wont bother. Midi-chlorians connect the   
Jedi to the Force, they exist in all things, but the amount is what   
allows some beings to sense and manipulate the Force. Not many   
outside the Jedi Order know of them: we Jedi like to cloak our   
power in mysticism and avoid discussing the actual mechanics of   
what we do.  
  
"At any rate, Lyrra Anor now knew about midi-chlorians,   
and she began working on a way to eliminate them in living cells."   
The Jedi's smile was tinged with bitterness. "Amazing what you   
can overhear when your keepers forget you're not just a lab animal.   
She was developing a self-producing microbe that would   
completely and permanently rid a being of all midi-chlorians in a   
matter of days." She looked closely at her companions. "She   
hesitated to use it on me: my high concentration of midi-chlorians   
made me too valuable a specimen, but she might decide to at any   
time.  
  
  
For a while I despaired, but the Force must have taken pity   
on me, because it was a few days after her initial   
breakthrough that I saw a chance to escape when the worldship   
had set down scouting parties on an uninhabited planet to gather   
sustenance. Before I made good my escape, though, I sought out   
Lyrra Anor."  
  
"For revenge." Stent nodded. "And to keep her from   
testing this thing she made on you."  
  
"No," Vergere said firmly, "don't you understand what I've   
said? If she succeeded in perfecting the microbe the Yuuzhan   
Vong could seed their conquered worlds with it and effectively   
destroy every being's connection with the Force. It would be the   
true and final end of the Jedi Order. That was the root of my   
despair: I had given myself up to the Yuuzhan Vong for the sake of   
peace, and instead I'd helped guarantee the Jedi would never rise   
again." She met Stent's gaze, and the Chiss found himself looking   
elsewhere. "I knew what had to be done."  
  
Vergere vaulted over a waist-high root and continued   
through the grass. "Like I said, I sought Lyrra Anor out. She was   
planetside in a temporary damutek, analyzing some of the local life   
and comparing the minute numbers of midi-chlorians in their cells   
with the concentrated numbers in mine." The Jedi swallowed,   
feeling a lump in her throat. "It was easy: she'd experimented on   
me, so I knew my way around such buildings by now. There were   
no guards, no other shapers nearby. She was very cautious you   
see, didn't want anyone looking too closely at her work.  
  
"I killed her." Vergere went on. She remembered. Lyrra   
Anor turning from her specimen table and seeing her lab animal   
standing in the doorway. Her eyes had widened at the sight of the   
lightsaber in Vergere's hand - the weapon had been kept for study   
instead of destroyed - and narrowed in understanding. She had   
drawn a coufee, a small, curved blade designed as a scalpel, not a   
weapon, and kicked over a table. The gel bulbs and bottle-shells   
ruptured, filling the room with a noxious cloud that teared the   
eyes.  
  
  
Vergere had doubled over, hacking and weeping. Lyrra   
Anor wasn't bothered: she'd taken a deep breathe before releasing   
the cloud, and among the enhancements made on her person was a   
second set of eyelids, clear membranes that sealed over her eyes,   
giving her natural goggles. She tried to run past the Jedi, out the   
doorway, but Vergere still had her Jedi reflexes and her Force-  
enhanced hearing clued her in to where the shaper was. A quick   
stab dropped her in midstride.  
  
Afterwards, when her tears healed her eyes, the Jedi had   
looked at the corpse. She had taken lives before, in battle and in   
self-defense, but never like this: never as an assassin, a murderer.  
  
"Then I destroyed all her work: records of the experiments,   
the live specimens, the storage villips and memory nodes.   
Everything."  
  
"Did he love her?" Oin caught her by surprise with that   
question.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sang Anor, the one who brought all this on my people.   
Did he love her? Did he grieve for her?" He was watching her   
with strange, flat, dead-looking eyes.  
  
"Yes," Vergere heard herself say, "losing her must have   
been painful to him." Oin said nothing, then he gave a single,   
sharp nod.  
  
"Good."  
  
He continued walking. Vergere was silent. What was   
there to say? But in her heart she knew the dark side had won at   
least one victory out of all this: the Nesz had learned to kill, to   
hate.  
  
They continued walking for a few minutes, then Vergere   
stopped in her tracks.  
  
"Wait." She held a hand out.  
  
"What is it?" Stent whispered. He had crouched, drawn his   
blaster and half-lidded his eyes so their red glow wouldn't give him   
away. He was looking all around, but the danger was above.  
  
  
She felt it coming. Or rather, she didn't feel it. A mass of   
nothingness rolling through the heavens, dispersing the Force as it   
went. And in it's wake...pain and death like blood welling from a   
stab-wound. The Nesz around them had perked up too. They felt   
the deaths of some of their kith and kin unlucky enough to cross   
the destroyers path. It was far away but flying quickly, already she   
could see the light of the fires in the horizon, columns of smoke   
blotted the stars.  
  
"Run!" Oin shouted. "Run!"  
  
***********************************************  
The newly completed Yuuzhan Vong battleship, the first to   
be born in this galaxy, pulled free of the coral field. The weapons   
were freshly filled with plasma and the young, recently installed   
dovin basals fought the seed world's gravity and overcame it. The   
ovoid of yorrik coral rose above the Yuuzhan Vong buildings, the   
residences and slave quarters, the damutek and the temple. It left a   
deep pit beside where its brothers and sisters grew, the four   
incomplete ships turned their immature sensors up and watched   
the creche's firstborn enviously.  
  
In the command chamber, Ke'Nass watched the terrain   
below the ship on a visual field while a shaper in a cognition hood   
directed the vessel. Ke'Nass would have preferred to control the   
battleship himself, but it was always best that a shaper took a new   
vessel on its first few trips until it become accustomed to using its   
dovin basals, get its 'legs' under it so to speak.  
  
Well, this would be good enough. The visual field showed   
him the surface of the planet as clearly as if he were looking   
through a window at the outermost edge of the great coral ovoid,   
and with a command he could get a detailed look at the smallest   
blade of grass on the surface.  
  
He licked his lips as they flew beyond the coral fields. For   
a moment he saw the dim shapes of the trees and swamps,   
glistening in the starlight, then rivers of molten plasma coursed   
down through the air. Very soon every infidel within a hundred   
miles of the coral field would be so many charred bones. Every   
Imperial. Every rebel slave.  
  
And Nom Anor as well.  
  
  
In moments, walls of flame were sweeping through the   
trees and tasting the plantlife. The Prefect watched, entranced, as   
the dancing flames consumed all they touched. The world below   
was bathed in a glorious orange light. It was so beautiful, so pure,   
like the hand of a god sweeping As the ship flew over the swamp   
trailing death, Ke'Nass had a moment of inspiration and gave the   
ship its name: Night of Fire.  
  
***********************************************  
"My master sends you greetings, Eminence." Krelt heard   
the young adept's voice from the blackness that surrounded him.   
His sharp ears pinpointed the source of the voice about three paces   
behind him and to his left. Of course, the acoustics of the temple   
might throw the estimation off a bit, but the old priest was familiar   
enough with the great hall to make accurate judgements. He held   
his hands out, palms up, and waited.  
  
"I hear your greeting, adept. What purpose brings you to   
Yun Yammka's sacred place?" One of Krelt's acolytes   
approached. The priest heard the opening of a small sclipune. A   
few seconds later he felt the acolyte place two olc'its in the palm   
of either hand.  
  
Krelt was blind, but in the eye of his mind he could see the   
Olc'its, still wet from being fresh out of their fluid-filled sclipune: a   
soft, yellow orb in each burned palm, a tiny black hole in the front   
side and a long, hair-thin tendril on the opposite side, lashing with   
tickling strokes. A ridge of tiny barbs ringed the orb, tucked in for   
now.  
  
Not that Krelt felt the sensations very clearly: regrettably,   
the burns that covered his body had deadened most of his nerve   
endings, he could sense little in the way of pain. He needed the   
vashi membrane that coated his thin form to simulate those   
sensations, and his hands were currently bare. He would need his   
specialized oozhith gloves to get the complete sense of the olc'its.  
  
No matter, they would not be in his hands for much longer.  
  
"An exceptional specimen from among the infidels has   
been delivered to you," the adept answered as Krelt slowly raised   
his palms up to his skull-like face, "my master would know when   
you will turn this Imperial over to us?"  
  
  
"When he has been reeducated to my satisfaction." The   
tendrils explored Krelt's empty sockets for a second before probing   
deeper. Then they were inside, making the connection. Bright   
flashes of white light seemed to explode in front of the priest as   
the nerve endings bonded. The olc'its were close relatives of the   
maa'its used by master shapers, but while those specialized   
creatures gave the shapers their enhanced vision, the olc'its gave   
simple sight, which was more than Krelt required. Within seconds   
the flashes resolved and he could see again  
  
"My master questions the need for reeducation when she   
can manipulate the infidel's mind and memories with a minimum   
of difficulty." The adept hazarded.  
  
"If he is to be one of us then we must instill what it is to be   
Yuuzhan Vong into his flesh, his bones, the very core of his being.   
It is not enough to alter his mind: he must be made ready, as soil   
must be plowed before seeds can be planted, otherwise they will   
not take." He could see, but right now he saw only the palms of   
his hands. He gently pressed the olc'its into his sockets until he   
felt the surrounding ridges extend and grasp the sockets' interiors.   
He took his hands away and the orbs remained in place, then the   
ridges contracted, slowly pulling the ocular creatures fully into the   
sockets.  
  
"Ah, so you seek to break him first." The adept stated.  
  
"To put in bluntly, yes." Krelt held out his stick-thin arm,   
around which was coiled his guide amphistaff. The acolyte tucked   
the sclipune into a pocket of his tunic and gathered up the   
amphistaff. He bowed to Krelt, then went to drape the serpent on a   
nearby stand. The priest then turned to face the shaper adept, his   
olc'its still appeared to bulge unnaturally, then the creatures gave a   
final tug that settled them in place. Krelt swept his eyelids over   
the new sensory organs and moved them experimentally with his   
facial muscles.  
  
"In that case, may I be permitted to examine the infidel,   
that my master might better understand the preparations to be   
made?"  
  
The old priest went blind most of the time, to do otherwise   
would make the sacrifice of his eyes meaningless, but there were   
some instances when sight was useful in doing his work for the   
gods. When he was satisfied that the olc'its responded to him as   
normal eyes would, he turned his attention to the visiting shaper: a   
thin, serious youth with a simple headdress, his enhanced adept's   
hand and original hand clasped before him.  
  
"Your name?" Krelt asked.  
  
  
"Zeld Kwaad, Eminence."  
  
"Very well, Zeld Kwaad, this way."  
  
Krelt led the young shaper past the great statue of Yun   
Yammka, Yun Yuuzhan's right hand and defender, to a large   
chamber in the rear of the temple. The human pilot lay on the   
coral floor, senseless. The attending acolyte bowed to the priest   
and retreated to a corner. To Krelt's new vision, it was clear the   
man was still breathing.  
  
Zeld Kwaad stepped forward and knelt by the unconscious   
infidel, rolled him onto his back and gently probed him with the   
sensory organs of his enhanced hand.  
  
"You'll notice I have refrained from leaving scars." Krelt   
knelt beside the adept, embracing the pain the blossomed in his old   
knees. "I thought it inappropriate to give him marks of honor   
before he had come to accept the pain." Zeld Kwaad nodded, the   
feelers of his headdress reflecting deep thought.  
  
"No lasting injuries," he pronounced as he withdrew his   
enhanced hand, "but vital signs are very weak." He turned his head   
to the priest and spoke firmly but with respect. "My master is   
uninterested in a dead specimen, she has enough of those already   
and precious few live, healthy Imperial humans." He stood. Krelt   
raised his arm and the acolyte took his elbow and helped him to his   
feet.  
  
Krelt glanced back at the human's sweat-covered face,   
twisted in a grimace that evidenced a world of nightmares in his   
tortured mind. "This one has rare potential," he said at last, "I   
believe he is close to accepting us. Tell your master I am nearly   
finished with him. I will deliver him to her damutek the day after   
tomorrow."  
  
"She thanks you, as do I."  
  
************************************************  
  
Drash Tevock dreamed he was sinking to the bottom of a   
mudhole. He tried to swim up to the surface, but he was sucked a   
meter down for every half meter of headway he made. It seemed   
he'd been struggling through the darkness and the thick, hot mud   
for hours without a break, but even though his arms felt like   
durasteel weight he didn't dare give up. He knew somehow that   
whatever was at the bottom was a thousand times worse than what   
he was going through now. Worse even than when he'd hidden   
from the adults in the commune, knowing they would find him   
eventually, and when they took him to Frae his punishment would   
be worse for every time he didn't answer their calls.  
  
That was before his tenth birthday, when he'd   
subconsciously begun to make Frae and his lieutenants not   
notice him, to will away the suspicion that he needed   
punishment and even deflect that desire to punish onto some other   
child. It had been his first use of the Force, though he still didn't   
know he done anything, and he never stopped. This was how he'd   
kept his superiors from noticing his exceptional flight performance   
and obvious mental instability, why they always forgot all about   
him once he was transferred: he generated a cloud of obscurity and   
forgetfulness and took it with him wherever he went. The talent   
had evolved as a survival trait: if he hadn't learned to avoid Frae's   
discipline in some way, odds were he'd have been dead before he   
was fourteen.  
  
This kind of dreaming was an altogether new and   
unwelcome experience for him. He'd never been able to sleep for   
more than four hours at a time, and then only when he was near to   
collapsing with exhaustion. He spent hours in the workout areas of   
the various Star Destroyers he'd served in simply to drain his   
energy. He could run for days on adrenaline alone. His dreams,   
when he dreamed at all, were all loud noise and flashes of light,   
disjointed images that he barely remembered on waking.  
  
Drash didn't know where he was nor remember how he'd   
gotten there, and he didn't want to know either. On some   
instinctive level he knew he was dreaming. If he stopped to think   
then he might wake up, and reality was nothing but pain and   
hopelessness.  
  
The monotony was interrupted, however, when Drash   
noticed a speck of light above him. His dream-self's eyes widened   
as the speck became a golden tunnel that cut through the mud,   
streaking towards him. The light enveloped him and there was a   
sense of being yanked upward, the pressing mud vanished and a   
cool, welcome wind was all around him. Then he   
was...somewhere else.  
  
  
There was mist all around him, but the mist was made of   
soft, golden light, and he wasn't so much standing as hovering.   
More, he wasn't alone: he somehow knew another presence was   
nearby, but though he peered through the mist he saw nothing.   
Then, like water flowing into an empty vessel, his memories   
returned. He remembered where his real self was, and what the   
Yuuzhan Vong had been doing to him before the blind priest had   
allowed him to slip into unconsciousness. He instinctively hugged   
himself, but though his flesh felt whole and real, he knew the body   
he wore wasn't genuine.  
  
"Am I dead?" He whispered.  
  
"No, but you will be worse than dead if you stay where you   
are now." The presence took form before him. It looked like one   
of the reptilian natives the Jedi traveled with, but its features kept   
shifting.  
  
"Who are you? Where am I?"  
  
"When I most recently lived, my name was Vlu. For the   
sake of convenience you may call me that." The shade tilted its   
head. "Your name is Drash Tevock. This," he gestured around   
them, "is where my kind exist. It is a kind of sanctuary. The   
invaders cannot harm you here. I want to help you."  
  
"Why?" He asked immediatly and sensed a wave of   
surprise from Vlu at the vehement question. "You expect   
gratitude?" Drash laughed. "I'm not a fool. There's only one   
reason you'd bother with me: you want something." That was the   
only constant of the universe: the only reason one being would   
ever help another was for remuneration. The Imperials had gotten   
him away from Frae, but they expected him to fight for the Emperor   
in return. The Yuuzhan Vong spared his life, but they wanted him   
to follow their gods. Frae had given him food and shelter, and he   
wanted to own Drash's body, mind and soul, just as he'd owned the   
lives of everyone in the commune.  
  
"I sensed your pain." Vlu said. ?" wished to help you."  
  
"That?s it?" Drash asked skeptically.  
  
"In life I was an elder among my people. I counseled those   
with wounds of the soul. It is against my nature to allow a being to   
suffer."  
  
  
"Well aren't you a saint." Drash quirked an eyebrow. "You   
want to help me? I'm game. Get me the hell away the Vong."  
  
"It's not that simple. I cannot affect the invaders, and it   
drains me to even be near them and their creatures."  
  
"Then what good are you?" Drash snapped as   
the small flame of hope was snuffed.  
  
"You have the power within you to escape." Vlu said. "All   
you need to do is realize it."  
  
"Power?" Drash didn't know whether to laugh or scream at   
the mad Eternal (somehow he knew what the being called itself).   
"I need a blaster, or better yet a TIE fighter!" With a TIE fighter   
he could strafe the alien base, burn every Vong on the ground, then   
crash into this temple at top speed!  
  
"You have power like Vergere, the power of life, but you   
cannot control it. I can help you do this."  
  
"There's a glitch in your nav computer, buddy. I'd know if   
I could do that Jedi stuff."  
  
"No you wouldn't. You're blind to it, as you are blind to   
most things. Blind and bound by fear."  
  
"I'm not afraid of anything!" Drash snarled.  
  
"You're not afraid to kill and you're not afraid to die,   
because you see nothing good in life, but you're afraid of   
everything else. You fear the past. You fear the people and things   
around you. You must learn to control yourself and your power,   
and you must learn soon." Vlu's shimmering eyes bore into him,   
turning his spirit to frost. "You must take a journey with me, and   
return with your mind intact."  
  
"Yeah, well what if I don't go back at all?" He challenged. "What   
if I just stay here?"  
  
  
"You cannot. Your body exists there," the Eternal pointed   
behind him, Drash turned and saw a vast field of nothingness, a   
void that stretched farther than he could see, "and you are being   
drawn back even now. I spent a good deal of my strength to reach   
you through the aliens' void, and it takes all my power to hold you   
here. My fellow Eternals will not aid me. You are not one of our   
young one and so they feel no obligation to aid you. They sense   
you are tainted with darkness and they shrink away from your   
presence. They call me a fool for trying to help you when our own   
young ones are in need."  
  
"They're probably right." Drash whispered, still staring into   
the nothing.  
  
"Tevock!" Vlu snapped. "Listen to me, for I look inside   
you, and I know you better than you know yourself, for you have   
never turned your gaze inward! You do not fear death because,   
secretly, you wish for it. Every time you climb into a fighter's   
cockpit you hope to be swallowed up by the flame and the void so   
you fight every battle as though it were your last. Let me tell you   
this, though: the Yuuzhan Vong will not kill you, but what they   
will do is infinitely worse. This is your last chance, your only   
chance." Vlu drew back. "You can accept my offer of help now,   
or I can release you back to your body and stop wasting both of our   
time."  
  
For a second Drash looked like a harried, cornered beast.   
He'd never been afraid of death, he'd been in such close contact   
with it all his life that it was practically an old friend, but he   
sensed that what Vlu offered, and what the Yuuzhan Vong   
intended, were both equally terrifying paths, and each was a   
thousand times harder than simply dying.  
  
"What do I have to do?" He finally said.  
  
"Just open your eyes." Vlu drifted toward him, reached   
out...  
  
The mist swirled around them and grew brighter, until it   
seemed they were plunging into a sun.  
  
  



	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve  
  
"I think I may have miscalculated."  
  
The sentence seemed to hang suspended in the air between   
them. Then Thrawn was up and moving and Parck realized that   
the sounds had lasted only seconds, now they existed only in his   
mind.  
  
The Grand Admiral was at his command chair, calling up   
holograms of the Unknown Regions and the sectors of space the   
Empire controlled. He displayed the current positions of all their   
ships and bases and the hyperspace routes connecting them, then   
highlighted a base near the edge of their territory and more than   
thirty Star Destroyers, all those that could reach the marked planet   
quickly.  
  
Parck turned away from the inert villip and took a hesitant   
step toward the seated Chiss. It seemed to him he should say   
something, either to ask what the Admiral was doing or if he   
should excuse himself, only he couldn't think of the right words.  
  
There was no need. Thrawn finished his strategizing,   
copied the information onto a datacard and slipped it into a   
datapad, then got up and walked toward Parck.  
  
"Contact Moff Niriz and have him order these Star   
Destroyers to rendezvous at the outpost in the Cavexil system." He   
handed Parck the datapad. "Then report to the hanger bay with   
General Beyin. I'll join you there soon." He turned back the chair.   
"We'll take a shuttle to the Annihilator," he named the only   
undamaged Star Destroyer from their strike at Orune Prime, it had   
entered the system only after most of the fighting was over,   
carrying the exiled nobility and their chosen Monarch back to   
Orune Prime, "have Commander Veenir take the Imperitor to   
Orrsa for repairs, we'll be heading for the Cavexil system in the   
Annihilator."  
  
"That's where the Vong will strike?" Parck asked. "You   
know what Sang Anor intends to do?"  
  
"No, there wont be an attack on Cavexil and yes, I know   
what the Executor is planning, I knew it immediately." He said   
impatiently. "He wants to strike at me, personally, Captain. What   
is the best way he can do that?" He gestured to the hologram.  
  
Parck studied the star chart for a moment, first in   
bafflement and then with dawning comprehension. The Cavexil   
outpost was where most of the young Chiss recruits passed through   
on their way to join Unity Fleet, the base sat on a hyperspace route   
leading directly to...  
  
"The Chiss homeworld!" Parck exclaimed.  
  
"By the Families I pray we can stop him in time." Thrawn   
was punching coordinates into his holopad.  
  
"But that can't be his target! Sir, striking at Chiss space is   
insanity!"  
  
"And Sang Anor is insane." Thrawn said grimly. "If he   
wasn't before, he is now. That is what I failed to consider." He   
finished setting the transceivers. "I have a transmition of my own   
to make. We'll be leaving immediately afterwards."  
  
"But sir, if this is all just based on a hunch-"  
  
"What you call a 'hunch,' Captain, is the result of the   
subconscious putting together clues and signs the conscious mind   
has failed to notice," Thrawn said in a distracted manner, "now   
carry out your orders."  
  
"Yes sir." Parck saluted and hurried toward the door.  
  
"One thing more, Captain." Thrawn turned his glowing   
eyes to the villip. "Take that with you, we may need it."  
  
**********************************************  
  
The signal shot through hyperspace in an instant and   
located its targets. Thrawn stood on his holopad, nervous but of   
course not showing it, and waited for a response.  
  
A minute passed, then two, then ten. Finally two   
holograms appeared before him, fuzzy at first, then solidified.   
Two Chiss males, each wearing the ornate but practical uniform of   
a Syndic, but otherwise as different in appearance as dawn was to   
dusk.  
  
The one on the left was thin and aged, though he stood   
straight and unbent. His hair and beard were tinged blue by the   
hologram but in person would be white as snow. His seamed,   
craggy face was as ready to laugh as to adopt a stern demeanor,   
though it leaned toward the latter for the moment as he regarded   
Thrawn with a guarded expression.  
  
While he was significantly older than Thrawn, the other   
Syndic was somewhat younger than the Grand Admiral, clean   
shaven, with his black hair as neatly trimmed as the older one's   
white. While a human observer might have said the young Chiss   
was calm and reserved, in Thrawn's eye he radiated unconcealed   
fury.  
  
"Syndic Taesk," he inclined his head to the elder Chiss,   
then turned to the younger. He paused a moment before repeated   
the gesture. "Syndic Vraet." He met the other's glowing gaze, not   
at all softened by light years of distance. "Greetings."  
  
"It has been a long time, Mith'raw'nuruodo." Taesk's voice   
was as strong and clear as ever, a voice that could inspire as well   
as command.  
  
"I know, and regrettably circumstances will not let our   
reunion be a pleasant one. I'm contacting you to send a warning to   
the Chiss. I believe Homeworld will come under attack, soon."  
  
"And you surmised that we were the only Syndic's who   
would deign to speak with you." Taesk concluded reluctantly.  
  
"Yours was the only voice raised in my defense during the   
trial." Thrawn reminded him. He turned his attention to Vraet. "I   
doubted you would answer me at all." He said carefully.  
  
"So the great Mith'raw'nuruodo made a mistake." The   
young Syndic said shortly. "What a surprise. My views haven't   
changed. I only answered your call because I feared you would try   
to contact my House in some other way if I ignored you."  
  
Thrawn felt a lump beginning to form in his throat, but he   
quashed it and made himself speak casually. "Is Kethria well?"   
He asked as though it were a trivial matter.  
  
"She is none of your concern!" Vraet barked, composure   
forgotten momentarily. "And I will not disturb her by delivering a   
message from you, so don?t ask."  
  
For a moment Thrawn was unable to form a response.   
"Your mother is more resilient than you may think." He said at   
last.  
  
"Let's make one thing clear from the start. I am the Syndic   
of my House," Vraet's eyes burned, "I decide what is in the best   
interest of all those under my protection. You have no place here.   
No bonds. No family. No voice in how this House functions.   
Not any longer." His eyes were glittering slits. "Say whatever you   
have to say."  
  
"Yes. Who would dare attack us?" Taesk raised his head.  
  
"An alien race from beyond the known galaxy." Thrawn   
said. "They call themselves the Yuuzhan Vong. They utilize an   
exotic, organic technology that is equal to our most advanced   
machinery and they employ this technology on a mission of   
conquest. They were responsible for the plagues that ravaged the   
worlds under my protection a short while ago, and that the least of   
what they are capable of." Thrawn shifted his stance. "I recently   
frustrated their plans and I believe their commander will strike at   
Homeworld in retaliation.  
  
"I advise you to deploy your ships defensively throughout   
Home system and reset your scanners to detect organic matter.   
Their ships do not have ion engines, but use creatures called dovin   
basals which warp gravity in order to propel the vessels, so watch   
for gravitational anomalies. These dovin basals can also strip a   
vessel of its energy shield, but simulation strategy suggests this can   
be negated by expanding the ship's gravitational compensator.  
  
The enemy leader has been known to strike quickly and   
unexpectedly, so the attack could be imminent. You may need my   
aid. I can muster thirty Star Destroyers now, with more later. I   
can have them in your space before the day is out."  
  
"And we are to convince the Syndics of the other Great   
Families to allow an alien fleet into our space?" Taesk's tone was   
more admonishing than angry, as though telling Thrawn he should   
know better. Vraet's response wasn't nearly as calm.  
  
"I knew you would try to cow the Chiss into putting   
themselves under your 'protection' sooner or later, as you have   
with the barbarian races of this region, but I overestimated your   
intelligence. Or perhaps you think our isolationist policies have   
made us gullible to the trickery of outsiders." Vraet spoke with   
tightly-controlled rage.  
  
"You offer up a ludicrous and completely unheard-of threat   
and blame it for the plagues you have brought from your barbarian   
Empire, plagues which have cost many of the young and foolish   
Chiss you duped into serving you their lives, then you use this   
tradgety as an opportunity to annex us." He narrowed his eyes.   
"I'm insulted. It's clear you have nothing of worth to say." He   
reached out, probably to a control panel outside the hologram's   
range to cut off the transmition.  
  
"Wait." Taesk didn't raise his voice, but Vraet's hand froze   
as though the young Syndic had been flash-frozen in carbonite.   
"While allowing an Imperial fleet into our space is indeed out of   
the question, I believe we should hear him out."  
  
"Surely you don't believe this nonsense?" Vraet turned   
slightly to the left, where Taesk's image was doubtless being   
projected for him.  
  
"It's because it sound like nonsense that I'm inclined to   
listen." The elder Chiss answered. "If Mith'raw'nuruodo's aim   
was deceit he would have chosen a more convincing story."  
  
"You were always quick to rush to his defense," Vraet's   
eyes glowed with soft menace, "and yet it is I who the other   
Syndics so often turn their suspicions on." He turned back to   
Thrawn. "If there is a threat to Chiss space, the Expansionary   
Defense Fleet with meet it. But it is you and your rabble of aliens   
and traitors who are highest on our list of enemies."  
  
Thrawn's eyes flashed with anger. "The Empire has never   
moved against Chiss space, not since I engaged and defeated   
Kinman Doriana's strike force, and they never will. I have the   
Emperor's personal guarantee that your borders and sovereignty   
will be respected." Thrawn felt a nervous fluttering in the pit of   
his stomach when he said that: the Sith didn't exactly have a stellar   
reputation when it came to keeping their word. True, Palpatine   
had mostly left the Hapes Consortium alone and the Chiss were in   
a similar position: both were strong and ancient cultures, but   
tucked in out-of-the way spots and generally unconcerned with   
events in the greater galaxy.  
  
On the other hand, with the power of a Death Star at his   
disposal would the Emperor tolerate even one world that didn't   
swear fealty to him?  
  
The Grand Admiral let none of his doubts show, of course,   
either in tone or expression.  
  
"Besides, the Emperor's vision is the way of the future,"   
Thrawn continued, "I knew it the first time I spoke with Doriana.   
Palpatine is bringing peace, order and prosperity to the galaxy."  
  
"It's as the Families have said," Vraet sneered, "you've   
become infected by the barbarian cultures." He looked at   
Thrawn's hard-won Grand Admiral's uniform and command bars   
as though he were wearing the skins and feathers of a savage. In   
Vraet's eyes he probably was. "On Homeworld we still keep the   
old precepts."  
  
"You mean the practice of pretending the universe ends   
outside your borders?" Thrawn shot back. "The customs that tell   
us never to innovate or adapt our methods and then call this   
complacency 'being honorable?'" Thrawn said with icy contempt.   
"I saw where following those customs has lead us: the fleets are   
commanded by inexperienced fools who've never seen combat,   
and beyond our boarders entire sectors are in a storm of chaos. It   
was only a matter of time before that maelstrom spilled over into   
our space, and we weren't prepared. I attempted to take an active   
role in defending our people and was branded on outcast."   
Bitterness tinged his voice.  
  
"Once the Chiss could have been the one great power in   
this galaxy, but we let the chance slip through our fingers. Instead   
we settled for simply protecting what we have. Well, Palpatine is   
the guiding force in the galaxy now, so why should the Syndics be   
angered at my actions? Our goals are the same: that the Chiss be   
left alone."  
  
"You've abandoned your heritage. Those customs you   
speak so disparagingly of have served us well ever since they were   
handed down to us a thousand years ago by Emperor   
Bruen'ris'telokru himself." Vraet named the Chiss leader who   
united his race and conquered the area of the Unknown Regions   
known as Chiss Space. After his death, his rule was taken up   
jointly by his male relatives, who founded the First Families  
  
"It was Enrist who concluded that we have all we had all   
the space we needed, and that ruling a galaxy-spanning empire was   
not only a pointless vanity but dangerous as well, as we would risk   
polluting our culture with barbarian influences." The young Chiss   
twisted his mouth in disgust. "I suppose you still practice the   
perversion of studying alien art, as if those inferior minds could   
ever produce anything useful."  
  
"I'm impressed, Vraet," Thrawn clenched his teeth to keep   
from shouting at the young Chiss, "you can replay the official   
version of history as well as any recording." He glanced at Taesk.   
"I'm surprised you never encouraged him to dig deeper into his   
heritage as you did with me."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Vraet asked.  
  
"Enrist was an old man when he made that proclamation.   
Tired of fighting, he wanted to settle down, consolidate and build a   
future for the Chiss. There was nothing wrong with that, but his   
isolationist policy wasn't intended to keep us pure, but to maintain   
his image as the greatest war-leader in Chiss history. By making   
our borders static, he guaranteed that no later Chiss could ever   
achieve victories that would exceed his.  
  
"There was another motive for his decision, though,"   
Thrawn went on, apparently oblivious to Vraet's mounting fury,   
"Enrist had sent out scouting missions to unknown sections of the   
galaxy, those scouts brought him news of the Old Republic. He   
knew that if the Chiss conquered a vast empire in the Unknown   
Regions then sooner or later they would encounter the Old   
Republic and come into conflict with them, a conflict he doubted   
we would win. Enrist feared the strength of the Republic and the   
power of the Jedi Knights, and so he made his laws and got what   
he wanted: to be emperor of a pocket of space that no one more   
than a few sectors away will ever hear of and to have his name and   
memory worshiped for a thousand years. All the while his   
kingdom was and remains in decline."  
  
"I have better things to do than waste my time debating   
history with an outcast!" Vraet shouted. "If a barbarian power   
threatens Chiss space it will be met and crushed, the traditions that   
you flouted are a better guarantee of victory than the promises of   
an alien Emperor." He reached for the disconnect button. "As for   
you, you're welcome to play with your fleet and squander your   
time trying to hold a rabble of inferior species together, but so   
much as cast a shadow in our space and I will personally lead the   
Defense Fleet in crushing you!" The hologram dissolved, leaving   
Thrawn and Taesk. For a few moments neither spoke.  
  
"I didn't handle that well." Thrawn finally said. "I really   
didn't think he'd answer me, and having all those old, ignorant   
arguments used against me..." he shook his head, "how could   
Kethria turn him against me like that?"  
  
"Don't judge them too harshly, Thrawn." Taesk put in.   
"They never understood why you defied the traditions, and things   
were very hard for them after your exile. There were even some   
doubts about whether or not Vraet was suitable to succeed you. He   
had to prove himself to the other Syndics." The elder Chiss folded   
his hands. "He isn't you, but he's still a good and just Syndic.   
Your House is lucky to have him."  
  
"I know, my friend." Thrawn grimaced. "It was a difficult   
decision, but at least they had you to help them."  
  
Taesk nodded. "I take it Beyin is still with you?"  
  
"Yes. He's doing his people a great service, even if they   
refuse to acknowledge him."  
  
"Thrawn, there are times I envy you and Beyin. You were   
my two best pupils, and your courage shames me."  
  
"No, without your influence I would have become as blind   
and complacent as the others."  
  
Taesk chuckled. "True, I saw the flaws in our culture and   
encouraged you to open your eyes and your mind, but you went   
further than I ever dreamed of. You defied the Families and the   
traditions." His face took on a stern cast. "Half the time I'm proud   
of you, the other half I wish I'd never set eyes on you. I don't yet   
know if your actions have saved the Chiss or will prove the ruin of   
our people."  
  
"I feel the same way sometimes." Thrawn confided. "But   
I've thrown my lot in with Palpatine and I will rise or fall with the   
Empire." He shrugged. "But these are old arguments, and the new   
threat we face is real."  
  
"You truly believe these barbarians will move against us?"   
Taesk's tone was frankly disbelieving.  
  
"I do. There may be Yuuzhan Vong already on   
Homeworld: they have creatures called ooglith masquers that   
behave as a second skin, allowing the wearers to assume the form   
of humanoid species. They can also counterfeit the red eyes of our   
people."  
  
"Savages can pass for Chiss?" Taesk was shocked.  
  
"And they may know enough about our culture and   
language to navigate Chiss society: not too long ago one of my TIE   
Advanced fighters disappeared near space I now know to be   
controlled by the Yuuzhan Vong. The pilot, a Chiss named   
Kirdw'ras'sinugo, could have been made to tell them much if the   
aliens took him prisoner."  
  
"I'll keep watch," Taesk promised, "it was good to speak to   
you again, but remember, Vraet was right: Imperial ships are not   
welcome in Chiss space. Pass our borders and you put yourself at   
risk." Now it was the older Syndic's turn to reach for his control   
panel. His hologram disappeared, leaving Thrawn alone in his   
chamber.  
  
"I'll have to take that chance." The Grand Admiral said to   
himself as he made for the shuttle bay.  
  
**********************************************  
"Blast him." Vraet muttered as he turned away from the   
holopad, his glowing eyes looked inward, not seeing the rooms   
surrounding him. Testament to how one could get used to even the   
most amazing sights. The Syndic's personal rooms, like the rest of   
the palace, was a masterpiece combining elegance with practicality   
and the importance of the military to the Chiss mind. The   
spacious chambers opened into one another to provide a greater   
sense of space, but could be quickly sealed off into separate areas   
for the sake of privacy, or for defensive purposes in case the palace   
was attacked.  
  
Three of the walls were decorated with soothing, mosaic   
patterns, the other outdid them: it was a curving, floor-to-ceiling   
window that provided a view of the city beyond. The window was   
so clear a bird might be fooled into trying to fly through it, but the   
substance could withstand anything short of a turbo charric   
barrage.  
  
  
Not that there was any real danger of fighting on the Chiss   
Homeworld itself, but the palace had been built nearly a millennia   
ago, when Syndics were more than a little suspicious of one   
another's motives and strengths in their new newly-united society.  
  
As far as one could see, even with a Chiss' exceptional   
vision, were the buildings and structures of the city, all smooth   
lines and elegant architecture built to coexist with the planet's   
natural beauty rather than replacing it. Even the poorest Chiss had   
the means to incorporate some aesthetic value into their homes and   
selves, but all following a practical purpose.  
  
And every Chiss in the city and the region beyond was   
under Vraet's protection.  
  
It was a Syndic's duty to care for his people. Widows,   
orphans and the elderly had to be provided for, along with basic   
education for the young and higher education for those with skill   
but without means. Vraet was also responsible for building and   
maintaining public structures and passing judgement over disputes   
or crimes. All this in addition to a Syndic's main duty, to   
defending his people from enemies of the Chiss.  
  
"So that was Mith'raw'nuruodo," the Chiss female crossed   
the room to stand beside him. "He doesn't look like the madman   
the High Families have painted him to be, despite the savage's   
clothing he wore." She said dryly.  
  
"Yes, he's a living legend." He said bitterly, turning his   
head to meet her crimson gaze. Raine had commanded Vraet's   
House phalanx for the past seven years, an unheard-of position for   
a female Chiss, but by now no soldier of in the entire Expansionary   
Defense Fleet could question her ability. "And his name is never   
to be spoken. By order the High Families he no longer exists."  
  
"A difficult prospect, considering his exploits are all the   
commoners talk about."  
  
The Syndic grimaced. "You're right. Do you believe his   
gall?" He ground his teeth. "To think he can frighten us into   
giving in to the Empire." He paced to the window and back to her.   
"He's a menace and a traitor to his people." And to his House,   
he thought. "A pity the High Families didn't execute him when they   
had the oppurtunity. I would have."  
  
Raine looked at him sharply. "Your own father?"  
  
"I would have done so with my own hands if I'd been old enough to use   
a charric." His voice seemed to freeze the air. His father, the   
great Traitor. The name of Mith'raw'nuruodo had followed Vraet   
all his life, polluting him, infecting him in the eyes of the other   
Syndics.  
  
And sometimes in Vraet's own eyes as well.  
  
Thrawn had violated the sacred traditions that governed the   
Chiss. Well, if he had left it at that then Vraet would have been   
able to live down the dishonor, but Thrawn didn't have the decency   
to disappear into his exile. No, he had returned, and he had   
committed the one unforgivable sin for a Chiss: he pledged fealty   
to a foreign power.  
  
The Traitor served in a foreign fleet, and worse, he   
encouraged young Chiss to join him in his dishonorable pursuits,   
thus weakening the Expansionary Defense Fleet. Whenever word   
of his latest exploit spread where did the eyes of the High Families   
turn to? Vraet.  
  
He knew the other Syndics despised him, it was not merely   
that they were suspicious of a House that had already birthed one   
betrayer, but because he was a constant reminder of someone they   
preferred to pretend never existed.  
  
And of course, they all watched everything he did. All his   
actions were suspected of having hidden motivations and duplicity,   
considering his parentage. Vraet grimaced. Like all the Syndics   
he'd been trained in warfare since childhood. He was an able   
enough commander, he knew it: he had done well against the few   
pirates and warlords who had tried to raid Chiss space. But he was   
no Thrawn. At most he was only a poor copy of his father.  
  
Vraet longed to be seen as more than that, but   
Mith'raw'nuruodo cast a long, deep shadow and his heir had been   
lost in that darkness all his life.  
  
"What measures should we take?" Raine broke into his   
thoughts. He turned and found her watching him calmly. His   
mind snapped back to present concerns.  
  
"Increase the phalanx patrols and monitor the House   
frequencies for transmitions from Imperial territory. If the Traitor   
makes a move in our direction, we'll be ready."  
  
"And what about the threat he warned you about?" Raine   
asked.  
  
Vraet shook his head, chuckling a little. "Aliens are all   
alike: savages. Not one of them can challenge the Chiss. Thrawn   
was once one of us, and he has thousands of our own people   
supporting him. That makes him by far the greatest threat to the   
Chiss."  
  
"If that's so then why hasn't the Expansionary Defense   
Fleet organized an attack to drive him and his fleet out of the   
Unknown Regions?" The commander tilted her head and asked   
with seemingly genuine curiosity.  
  
"Because that would be a pre-emptive strike, a sin by any   
civilized being's reckoning." Vraet spun on her. "The Traitor   
might have abandoned his people's beliefs, but he will not drag us   
down into savagery with him."  
  
"Perhaps," Raine didn't bat an eyelash at his flash of anger,   
"or perhaps the High Families see how his actions benefit them."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The Traitor's campaigns against the savages beyond our   
borders have reduced alien incursions into Chiss space. Their   
raids are almost unheard-of these days." She crossed her arms.   
"The result? The Families have peace without breaking the   
traditions, they let the Traitor do their dirty work for them."  
  
"Are you defending him?" Vraet's eyes flared like crimson   
beacons, but his voice was soft and dangerous. He took a step   
forward and there was less than a meter of space separating them.  
  
"Of course not." Raine answered. "By its very nature the   
Empire is a threat to Chiss sovereignty. I am only pointing out that   
the main enemies of the Chiss might be closer than you think. A   
few of them may even sit on the Council of Syndics."  
  
"This is nonsense." Vraet responded. "The Syndics despise   
Thrawn and what he stands for."  
  
"And yet the High Families have made no move to curtail   
its expansion into the Unknown Regions. Why?" She proceeded   
to answer her own question. "Because by conquering the savages   
the Empire has stopped the attacks that once plagued us and   
validated the standing policies of the Syndics: they can continue to   
claim they were right all along to follow the traditions to the letter.  
  
"The Traitor provides another service as well: he recruits   
dissatisfied commoners into the Empire, thus ridding the Chiss of   
malcontents and troublemakers. The Syndics then find themselves   
in a stronger position politically." She narrowed her eyes. "I have   
reason to believe they continue to ignore Thrawn because of this,   
but the stronger they allow him to become, the greater the enemy   
we will eventually face. Syndics like you must be all the more   
vigilant to make up for the failing of those who care more about   
increasing their own power and prestige than for the safety of the   
Chiss."  
  
Vraet seemed about to say something, but then closed his   
mouth and thought it over. He nodded. "Your analysis of the   
situation is more thorough than mine." He said at last.  
  
By now, Vraet knew better than to dismiss Raine's   
observations out of hand. Raine wasn't a member of the noble   
classes and he had gone against tradition in promoting her, but   
nowhere was it explicitly said that a phalanx commander couldn't   
be a commoner, not when the position. Officially commanders   
simply carried out a Syndic's orders and so their state of birth   
didn't matter, but in practice a phalanx commander often made   
important decisions affecting a Syndic's House.  
  
"I apologize if I spoke out of turn, Syndic." Raine said,   
"but I couldn't serve you to the best of my abilities if I didn't-"  
  
"No," he shook his head, "there's no need to apologize, I   
welcome your input." Vraet relaxed a little and smiled. "If all I   
wanted in a commander was unquestioning obedience and   
agreement with whatever I said I would have selected a protocol   
droid to lead my phalanx."  
  
"Vraet, do you realize you've just made a joke?" Raine   
returned his smile with a playful one of her own.  
  
"I hadn't noticed." The Syndic stepped away and paced   
back to the window. "Well Commander, what course of action do   
you recommend?"  
  
"Urge the other Syndics to declare war on the Traitor."   
Raine said firmly. "The Expansionary Defense Fleet and the so-  
call Unity Fleet are bound to clash eventually. The best thing we   
can do is to be the one who choose the battleground." She stood   
beside him at the window.  
  
"That wont be easy. The High Families wont even publicly   
acknowledge he even exists." He chuckled. "We Syndics are a   
proud and stubborn lot, with a great capacity to ignore what is   
inconvenient."  
  
"You're not that bad." Raine leaned against him and curled   
her arm around his shoulders. "You just need a good, swift kick   
now and again, just to wake you up."  
  
Vraet was surprised when a wide smile broke through his   
carefully controlled visage. He shrugged and allowed himself to   
relax against Raine. This was why he loved her: when they were   
together he could be himself, without the fear of being judged he   
always experienced around his peer and subordinates. She was the   
only one who accepted him for who and what he was. She looked   
at Vraet and saw only him, she didn't automatically measure   
him against Thrawn and find his son wanting.  
  
He would begin working on the other Syndics immediately.   
The Chiss had tried to purge themselves of the sickness Thrawn   
represented once before. They had failed and so that sickness had   
spread throughout their society. This time they would do it right.   
Vraet looked out across the cityscape, at all the people under his   
protection, and vowed that they would never see a stormtrooper   
marching down the streets of Homeworld, or feel the presence of a   
Star Destroyer high overhead. The Empire would never touch   
Homeworld!  
  
Vraet's oath proved as accurate as a Jedi?s prophecy, and   
like such prophecies it came to pass in a way he could never have   
expected.  
  
Or wished for.  
  
************************************************  
  
The Chiss shuttle limped into the Home system and was   
picked up by Vraet's phalanx the next day. The small ship had   
been badly damaged and began sending out distress signals on   
exiting hyperspace. Syndic Vraet ordered the pilot, the shuttle's   
sole occupant, brought directly to his flagship, the Guardian.  
  
"Syndic," the thin, frightened-looking Chiss seemed ready   
to cast himself on the deck at Vraet's feet, "thank the First   
Families, I doubted my shuttle would make it through hyperspace   
and I had to warn you, I-" he visibly pulled himself together and   
donned the trademark Chiss composure. "Controller   
Sorl'ekr'usufre of Yehal base reporting, Syndic." He snapped a   
salute.  
  
Vraet nodded. "Continue."  
  
"Roughly two hours ago my base came under attack.   
Imperial Star Destroyers. The sensors counted five of them before   
they set up a jamming field."  
  
The Syndic would've stood up straighter if it were possible.   
Thrawn was making a bid to take the Chiss territory, and the base   
in the Yehal system was the perfect jump-off point for a strike at   
Homeworld itself!  
  
"They ignored our communications and opened fire   
immediately, half our defense ships were hit before they could get   
off a shot, the others were flanked and surrounded. They brought   
Interdictors to prevent anyone from running, then struck at the base   
itself." Lekrus shuddered. "None were spared, not civilian   
laborers, not the garrison's families, no one."  
  
"How did you escape?" Raine asked.  
  
"Partly through luck, Commander, partly through the   
courage and skill of our fighter pilots. When they blocked our   
transmitters Base Commander Holet realized the importance of   
getting word to Homeworld. He ordered myself and a fighter   
group to run the blockade using our most heavily-shielded shuttle.   
My fighter escort was destroyed before they reached the edge of   
the interdiction field, and me nearly with them."  
  
He turned his gaze from the commander to the Syndic. The   
survivor must be in shock: his eyes had a strange, dull quality.   
They didn't brighten or dim with his emotions as those of the   
average Chiss did. "The Traitor is massing his fleet for a strike at   
Homeworld, if he's not stopped-"  
  
"He will be." Vraet gripped Lekrus' shoulder. "You've   
done well, and you may have saved your people." He looked at the   
other Chiss' disheveled condition. "Are you injured?"  
  
"No Syndic." He set his face into a grim expression. "I'm   
ready to fight for my people."  
  
"You'll get the chance." Vraet promised. He turned to the   
nearby medic. "But take him to the infirmary and check him."   
The doctor nodded as Vraet turned toward the door and walked   
out, Raine matched his steps.  
  
"How many of my ships can move out immediately?" He   
asked.  
  
"Most of the phalanx." She answered. "We're going to   
counterattack?"  
  
"Yes, immediately after I alert the other Syndics."  
  
"Should we wait for them to send out ships of their own?"  
  
"And waste time while they debated who should be in   
command? No, my phalanx is easily strong enough to defeat five   
Star Destroyers." They reached the turbolift and boarded. The   
doors slid shut behind them and he pressed a button. Raine   
blinked her crimson eyes, the only sign of surprise she showed: the   
turbolift was moving down to the fighter and shuttle launch bay,   
not up to the bridge.  
  
"And it's not 'we,' you'll remain behind and take command   
of the remaining ships and defenses." The commander narrowed   
her eyes, but not before he caught the sudden flash of red   
brilliance.  
  
"May I ask why?" Her voice was deceptively level.  
  
"Because I have ordered it so." He said coldly. "If I strike   
now I can catch Thrawn by surprise and turn him back, perhaps   
even kill him. If there are more Star Destroyers than the phalanx   
can handle I will turn back and seek reinforcements from the other   
Syndics." The turbolift reached its destination, but before the   
doors could slide open Raine hit the DOOR-CLOSE button on the   
panel, so fast he didn't perceive the movement of her arm from her   
side to the controls.  
  
"You should be the one remaining while I lead the attack."   
She said bluntly. Vraet narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You have your orders, Commander." He reached for   
DOOR-OPEN button, but Raine knocked his hand away and   
positioned herself between him and the controls. "What is this?"   
He glared at her. "Who do you think you are?"  
  
"I think I'm your phalanx commander," she shot back, "and   
I think you owe me an explanation. It's my place to lead your   
fleet, and if you think I am unfit for my duties then relieve me of   
command." Their eyes locked for a few seconds, but this time   
Vraet dropped his gaze.  
  
"Commander," he paused, "Raine, this is important to me.   
It's my chance to prove to the Syndics that I am not my father's   
son, worthy of a place beside them." His eyes blazed up. "If I lead   
an attack to protect our space then no one can doubt that I am a   
loyal Chiss." He thought about not saying any more, but here, in   
private, he felt he could be honest with Raine, and suddenly found   
he needed to share his reasons with someone. "Besides," his   
voice turned deadly, "I want to meet Thrawn in combat. I want to   
prove, to him and to myself, that I'm the better man."  
  
Vraet felt a little foolish after saying that. Raine wasn't of   
the nobility, after all, she couldn't understand the ceaseless rules of   
honor and pride that were drilled into every Syndic-to-be from   
birth, the need to prove oneself worthy in the eyes of one's peers   
and ancestors. He watched his commander closely, looked away   
for a few seconds, then back at Vraet.  
  
"I can see why you have to do this, Vraet, but..." for the   
first time in years he saw her looking unsure of herself, "I've never   
had any faith in hunches, intuition or nonsense like that, but when I   
heard that man's report I felt," she hesitated a second, "afraid," she   
rushed on, "and I had that same feeling just now, when you said   
you intended to lead the counterattack."  
  
"Raine," he took her by the shoulders, "I can lay down my   
life in defense of the Chiss at any time, I accepted that a long time   
ago. I am a Syndic: my life doesn't belong to me, but to the people   
I protect, and if they are endangered my life or death will not   
matter so long as the threat is turned back."  
  
Raine grimaced. "I just don't like the idea of staying   
behind while you go into battle, it makes me feel helpless." She   
glared into his eyes. "I hate feeling helpless."  
  
Vraet actually laughed. "Helpless? You're the strongest   
person I know." He drew her close and kissed her. After an   
eternity they parted. "You don't need to worry about anything."   
He whispered. "Knowing you're waiting for me is a guarantee I'll   
return safe."  
  
Raine smiled a little. "Ever the optimist."  
  
**************************************************  
The Chiss warships and fighters fell into realspace midway   
into the system, with a second wave set to follow in minutes. The   
large and midsize capital ships of Vraet's Household phalanx flew   
in classic formation while fighters and strike cruisers guarded the   
outer perimeter or preceded the main fleet altogether. Standing on   
the bridge of the Guardian, Vraet shifted his glowing eyes from   
the view to the bridge crew's instrument readings. The   
Guardian was in the forefront of the fleet, so Vraet was one of   
the first to see the destination of the hastily-assembled battle   
group.  
  
"I want readings." He said to his captain. "Get an analysis   
of what happened here."  
  
"Sir," the Chiss saluted and relayed the orders to the   
stunned bridge crew. There was good reason for their   
astonishment: they had entered the system expecting to find   
Imperial warships massing for an attack on the Homeworld, or   
possibly the last parts of a battle being waged against the star-  
spangled black background of space, not the complete devastation   
that lay before them.  
  
One thing was painfully clear: the fleet had arrived too late   
to be of any help. The ruins of the base were as silent and peaceful   
as a graveyard, and any enemies were long gone. Scorched and   
twisted metal, the remains of defense stations, capital ships and   
fighters, drifted slowly in the vacuum. Most of the debris had been   
caught by the planet Yehal's gravity and was in orbit around the   
world, being pulled gradually into the atmosphere.  
  
But the planet itself...  
  
Yehal wasn't exactly a world that had seemed made for the   
Chiss: an unbreathable atmosphere, uncomfortable gravity, and   
though the rate of rotation and distance from sun were such to   
create conditions for life form to develope and thrive, Chiss would   
never survive there. Not a good place for a colony or a resort spot,   
in other words, but strategically it was a perfect place to set up a   
base and outpost.  
  
The initial survey teams had also found quite a few mineral   
deposits and other natural resources a few centuries back and the   
Families had decided to exploit that material wealth despite the   
hardships that went with obtaining it. The mining communities on   
the surface were situated underground or inside domed enclosures,   
and the colonial miners had to don encounter suits to venture   
outside. There was no talk of moving them out and setting up   
mines on Homeworld, however.  
  
A popular movement centered around the idea that   
Homeworld's natural beauty should not be defiled had sprung up   
centuries ago and had continued into recent years. According to   
these activists the Chiss Homeworld itself should not be subjected   
to mining and manufacturing industries. The Families had agreed   
with this notion and had made it policy to rely on the natural   
resources of those planets under Chiss control rather than use those   
of Homeworld.  
  
The sentient natives of Yehal hadn't caused any problems   
for the colonists, not after the first few months anyway. The   
natives were a primitive race: only just beginning to realize the   
potential for fossil fuels and industrialization. They resented the   
Chiss for claiming the natural resources that they needed for a real   
industrial revolution, but since cannons and stone fortresses could   
do little good against charrics and energy shields they had learned   
to accept their place as subordinates on their own planet.  
  
The Chiss themselves couldn't understand the natives?   
attitude. So what if their control over Yehal's resources kept the   
natives from moving beyond a medieval level of technology?   
They were savages: given the opportunity they would ruin their   
own world with pollution to invent better ways of killing one   
another. Besides, they were left alone to govern their own affairs   
so long as they avoided those parts of the planet the Chiss were   
making use of. In exchange for this small service they now had the   
benefit of living under the protection of the Chiss, who kept them   
safe from both outsiders and their own barbaric impulses. By all   
rights they should be grateful.  
  
Unfortunately for the Chiss case their protection didn't   
count for much, as it turned out, seeing as they were all dead.  
  
Yehal's atmosphere had been transformed into thick,   
swirling mass the color of red clay. Vraet couldn't see past the   
cloud-cover to the surface, but judging by the unquiet movements   
of the atmosphere, massive storms were raging across the world.   
The comm channels received nothing from the colony, not from   
the colonists themselves or even the primitive radio transmitions   
that natives had recently invented. The system had been wiped   
clean of life.  
  
"I want fighter groups out and scouting," Vraet heard   
himself say as old training took over, "whoever did this might still   
be in-system." On the far side of the planet, for instance, or under   
the cloud cover. A clever commander could hide an entire fleet in   
a solar system. "And get me an analysis of the planet. I want to   
know what happened here."  
  
"Sir." The Captain relayed his orders to the obviously   
stunned bridge crew, and Vraet saw sleek Chiss fighters streak   
away from the battle group while the other ships took up a   
defensive formation. Vraet struggled to assimilate the detestation   
while mentally composing the address he would give before the   
High Families. This was monstrous, an unheard-of violation of the   
Chiss, so he thought as the Guardian moved closer to the planet   
and a chunk of space station tumbled slowly past.  
  
Someone would pay for this.  
  
"Fighter reports are in," a bridge officer reported, "no sign   
of enemy activity."  
  
"Scan the wreckage." The Captain turned to the sensors   
section.  
  
"A preliminary scan shows ion trails and energy signatures   
corresponding with Chiss propulsion systems and charrics," the   
officer at the station said, glowing eyes never leaving the readouts,   
"but no sign of alien weaponry." He peered closer as more   
information scrolled down the screen. "Something odd, though.   
There are traces of some odd substance."  
  
"What kind of substance?" Vraet resisted the urge to go   
over to the screen and take a look himself.  
  
"It looks like some kind of plasma." The officer spoke at   
last. "And there are minor gravitational anomalies all around the   
planet."  
  
"Like the disturbances made by an Interdictor?" The   
Captain asked.  
  
"No sir, but similar." More readings poured in from the   
other ships. "And small chunks of some material I can't identify   
are drifting out there as well. The fighter pilots say the debris   
looks charred, as though by energy blasts from charric fire."  
  
"And the planet?"  
  
"Sensors can't penetrate the cloud cover, but from what we   
can tell it looks like the air has been superheated. She might as   
well be orbiting around the outermost edge of the sun."  
  
Vraet maintained a calm appearance and clasped his hands   
behind his back to keep from wringing them nervously. How   
could Thrawn do this? Had he been so corrupted by the barbarians   
that he no longer had any notion of honor? "See if some of the   
fighters can get under that cloud cover," he said to the Captain, ?I   
want a look at the surface. Have the fighters and gunships expand   
their search of the system for signs of enemy activity and prepare   
the medical bays. There may be survivors." He glanced out the   
main viewport. "And contact Homeworld, the other Syndics must   
know about this."  
  
"Sir," the Captain began to relay the orders.  
  
"Captain, Syndic," the officer at the sensors station turned   
from the screens, "I'm getting some odd readings from the debris."  
  
"What kind of readings?" Vraet looked at him.  
  
"Some of the chunks aren't drifting anymore, they're   
moving toward the Guardian."  
  
"Escape pods?" The Captain asked.  
  
"No, not the metal debris, sir." The officer clarified. "The   
other kind."  
  
Vraet moved to stand over the station. "Visual." A small   
hologram of the Guardian appeared at the sensor chief's   
command, a sleek, powerful capital ship as astheticly pleasing as   
she was practical. Around the flagship, more than a dozen tiny   
meteorites were converging.  
  
"What in space are those?" The Captain murmured. They   
were roughly the size of starfighters and, the Syndic noted as he   
squinted red eyes at the hologram, they had the vague shape of   
fighters as well.  
  
"Get an enlarged image of one." Vraet said quickly. The   
officer adjusted his controls for a few moments and a second   
hologram appeared beside that of the Guardian. Vraet felt a   
sense of relief when he saw the meteorite was clearly that: a   
meteorite, though by some strange coincidence they did resemble   
fighters. There was even a kind of crystalline growth on the top   
that looked like a cockpit, and if Vraet looked closely enough he   
could see how some of the pits and ridges could appear to be   
weapon emplacements.  
  
Still, just to be safe...  
  
"Are the shields raised?" The Captain indicated an   
affirmative. "Lock a tractor beam on one of those rocks and bring   
it onboard." The Syndic said. "I want a closer look at it." The   
launching bay doors opened and the meteorite was slowly drawn   
toward the Guardian's maw.  
  
"Sir, the Council of Syndics is responding to the   
transmition." The comm officer reported.  
  
"I'll take it in the conference room." Vraet turned to the   
Captain, "notify me if anything-"  
  
"Sir, I can't get a lock on the meteorite." The crewman at   
the tractor beam's controls spoke up."  
  
"Why not?" Vraet stopped and frowned in annoyance, he   
needed to appraise the other Syndics.  
  
"I can't explain it sir, the tractor beam keeps encountering   
mini gravitational anomalies before it can take hold." He might   
have said more, but the whistle of alarms from several stations   
interrupted him.  
  
"We've got multiple breaches in the energy shield!" A   
crewman shouted. The main diagnostics display showed blinking   
red areas in the energy shield around the Guardian's computer-  
model. There were more than a dozen holes in the defensive field.  
  
Vraet turned his crimson eyes to the hologram at the sensor   
station. Small meteorites, so similar to starfighters, slowly closing   
around the capital ship...  
  
Something clicked.  
  
"Extend the gravitational compensation field!" He shouted.   
"And close the hanger!"  
  
Too late.  
  
The meteorite targeted by the tractor beam accelerated,   
streaked up into the hanger like a spear into a whale's underbelly,   
and the bridge floor heaved under Vraet, throwing the Syndic off   
his feet.  
  
*******************************************  
When their comrade commenced his suicide-dive into the   
infidel ship the other fifteen coralskippers fired into the holes   
they'd made in the machine's energy shield. Rock-like projectiles   
that were in reality spheres of chitin impacted the durasteel hull   
and adhered to the metal while their porous surfaces released   
highly corrosive solvents. The missiles sank into the melting hull.  
  
The coralskipper pilots knew the Chiss fighters were even   
now beginning to swarm them, but that didn't matter: the mission   
was complete. True, the projectiles had made mere pinpricks in   
the Guardian, but they would burst the instant they were inside,   
and no barrier the infidels could erect would stop the many   
creatures within, creatures bred to seek out a spacecraft's reactor   
core, and when they got close enough to the core the chemicals in   
their bodies would react in a most spectacular manner.  
  
*******************************************  
Vraet pulled himself up with the railway that surrounded   
the upper bridge. Blood from a cut on his scalp trickled down his   
face, he wiped it with a sleeve and spun around to face the bridge   
stations. The power was out in half the monitors, the other half   
showed only jumbles of meaningless symbols.  
  
"Hull breaches on levels three and five!" One officer   
shouted.  
  
"Seal off the damaged sections," the Captain ordered, "and   
lock the turbo charrics on those enemy vessels!"  
  
The glowpanels and lights on the control stations winked   
out, to be replaced a second later the much dimmer glow of   
auxiliary power. The Captain forgot himself and cursed,   
creatively, before recovering his composure. "The crash must have   
taken out the main power."  
  
"Confirmed sir, we're drifting."  
  
"Captain, Syndic," a voice blared from the comm, terror   
almost breaking through the trademark calmness of the Chiss, "the   
alien projectiles have released some sort of creatures, insectoids,   
into the ship."  
  
"You were told to seal off the damaged areas!" Vraet   
barked at the officer.  
  
"I did, Lord."  
  
"I can see them on the monitor," the voice from the comm   
was talking, "they're eating through the blast doors, Families help   
me they-Ahh-" the cry was cut short in a whoosh of air, then   
nothing but the silence of vacuum.  
  
"We need security in encounter suits down there!" Vraet   
turned to another station. "Where are they?"  
  
"Internal sensors indicate the things are making their way   
to the reactor core." Vraet felt as though he'd been dipped in   
icewater on hearing that. "I don't think we have time to stop   
them."  
  
Vraet and the Captain exchanged looks, the Syndic nodded   
reluctantly. "Send out a Level Five alarm." The Captain said. "All   
hands abandon ship."  
  
"Sir..." a crewman from the helm.  
  
What now? Vraet felt like groaning. He turned to the   
helm, but didn't need to ask what the problem was.  
  
The irregular shape of an alien fighter hovered into view   
just beyond the main forward viewport. Vraet glimpsed a   
humanoid shape behind the crystalline cockpit. A glance at the   
diagnostics displays showed that a hole had been opened in the   
forward shield.  
  
The Captain saw this as well, and reacted instantly: he   
struck the OPEN button beside the turbolift door with one fist,   
then seized Vraet by the shoulders, pulled him back and threw him   
into the open lift. As the door slid shut, Vraet saw bolts of plasma   
streak from the corralskipper and shatter the transparisteel   
protecting his bridge crew from the vacuum beyond.  
  
**************************************************  
Vraet braced himself against a corridor wall as the ship was   
rocked by a miniature explosion. He turned a corner and found his   
way blocked by blast doors: the Guardian's automated   
countermeasures must still be in effect, the ship was sealing off the   
damaged portions of itself to prevent the remaining crew from   
being sucked into the vacuum. Unfortunately it also blocked off   
the quickest route to the secondary shuttle bay.  
  
Vraet uttered a string of curses he'd learned from Raine.   
He had to admit it was very satisfying, even if it didn't do anything   
to help his position. Once again his commander's knowledge of   
the middle and lower levels of society proved useful.  
  
He retraced his steps. He would have to take the longer   
route to the shuttle bay. And he would have to hurry: the   
insectoids would reach the reactor core soon, and Vraet didn't   
want to be onboard when they did.  
  
Despite the urgency the Syndic couldn't help but feel   
reluctance to leave the Guardian to her fate. His flagship had   
served him well over the years.  
  
"Syndic!" An exclamation from behind him. He turned   
and saw another Chiss hurrying down the corridor. "Thank the   
Families your safe," he began to bow but Vraet stopped him.  
  
"There's little time for pleasantries," he said quickly, "we   
need to reach the shuttle bay, quickly."  
  
"I've tried, blast doors are blocking the way." The   
crewman's eyes were dull with shock.  
  
"Only the quickest route." Vraet corrected. "This way."   
He was about to turn and lead the way down the corridor when   
something tugged at the back of his mind. He dismissed the   
feeling. Hopefully there was a shuttle or escape pod remaining-  
  
Vraet's companion flicked his wrist and a coufee slid from   
his sleeve. He clapped a hand on Vraet's shoulder, spun him   
around, stepped in close and buried the blade in the Syndic's   
stomach.  
  
Fire spiked through Vraet's midsection and into his   
extremities. He gasped for air, eyes bulging. The pain seemed to   
sharpen his senses though, facing the crewman, Vraet suddenly   
remembered where he had seen the skinny Chiss with the   
lackluster eyes before: it was Lekrus, the supposed survivor of the   
'Imperial' attack, the one whose warning had brought Vraet here in   
the first place.  
  
His attacker grinned, showing white fangs, and drew his   
blade up Vraet's abdomen in a single, sharp move before shoving   
the disemboweled Chiss against the corridor wall. Blood sprayed   
from the wound, splattering droplets on the attacker's uniform.  
  
Vraet clutched at his rent midsection with one hand while   
the other grabbed for the charric at his side. 'Lekrus' didn't move   
to stop him. The false Chiss looked at his coufee, which was   
already absorbing Vraet's blood into itself, and ran his tongue   
across the blade before it could finish its meal.  
  
He smacked his lips. "A little thin for my taste," he mused,   
"but an interesting flavor."  
  
Vraet had drawn his sidearm, only to see it slip from his   
fingers as his muscles refused to clench. Strength leaked out of his   
legs as well, and he slid down the wall to sit on the floor.  
  
It was hard to focus his thoughts. Knife, must have   
been... his mind struggled for the word, poisoned. The hand   
clutching his stomach was covered in thick, hot liquid, and   
something slippery and rope-like coiled around his fingers. He had   
no desire to look down at the damage, even if his paralyzed body   
was capable of movement.  
  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong touched the side of his nose and the   
blue ooglith masquer withdrew, revealing his scarred and tattoo-  
covered face. He watched Vraet with red-dyed eyes and smiled.   
"The gods will dine well this day."  
  
Damn you, Father, was Vraet's last thought before the   
world exploded, you were right again. Always right. Damn   
you!  
  
*****************************************************  
Raine paced across the bridge of the Sentinel, apparently   
observing the capital ship's crew at their stations. In reality she   
was moving around to try and rid herself of nervous energy. The   
gnawing fear hadn't left her since Vraet and the majority of his   
phalanx had jumped into hyperspace. In fact, the unease had only   
grown in that time. This was unlike any kind of pre-battle nerves   
she'd ever experienced.  
  
She allowed none of her worries to show, of course. No   
member of the Chiss military, and certainly not an officer, would   
ever appear less than completely in control. Besides, she had   
always despised the widespread belief that females were unable to   
handle themselves in times of crisis. That had been one of her   
chief obstacles in joining the Defense Fleet, one that she had   
surmounted with great difficulty.  
  
Among the Chiss, tradition said that a female's place was   
raising children and performing the domestic chores in her   
husband's or father's household, and among the Chiss tradition was   
as strong as law. In a way, she had Thrawn to thank for her   
present circumstances: with so many young males leaving the   
favoritism and generally unfair treatment of Homeworld to join the   
Empire (numbers the High Families were still doing their best to   
hide), the Families had no choice but to bend tradition and allow   
females into the work force.  
  
Some Chiss females, Raine included, had dared to try and   
enlist in the Expansionary Defense Fleet. The training was   
difficult, and they were unwanted by soldiers and officers alike.   
Only the most dedicated had succeeded, out of those a mere   
handful had actually seen combat, and only Raine had reached a   
command position.  
  
  
But be honest, would you be here at all if you weren't   
Vraet's lover? A nagging, spiteful voice whispered from the back   
of her mind. The red glow of her eyes increased by several shades.   
Yes, she had to admit her relationship with Vraet was a factor, but   
that only convinced him to treat her fairly and acknowledge her   
ability. Vraet was no fool, and he wouldn't promote someone to   
the rank of phalanx commander just because he was sleeping with   
her. Skill, intelligence and courage were the only qualities a   
Syndic looked for in choosing his officers.  
  
But as much as she loved Vraet, it still hurt to think that   
she hadn't done it all on her own.  
  
Raine had always been most comfortable aboard a ship.   
She loved the sense of freedom, knowing the hyperdrive could take   
her across Chiss space with just a few jumps. She turned her gaze   
outward, past the forward viewport, but even the sight of   
Homeworld, slowly rotating with white clouds dancing gently   
across her atmosphere, failed to soothe the commander.   
  
Advancement would have probably come easier if she had   
joined the Unity Fleet under Mith'raw'nuruodo, and she could see   
the whole of the galaxy in the service of the Empire, but the   
thought of deserting had never even crossed her mind. She was   
Chiss: she loved her Homeworld and her people, even if she hated   
the blind, backward old men who ruled them.  
  
In spite of everything, Raine had to admit she was happy:   
she had authority, the respect of her peers, superiors and   
subordinates, the power to defend her people, and of course, she   
had Vraet.  
  
The Syndic was the only one who understood her, who   
didn't try to define her by the standards of behavior the rest of   
society adhered to: as either a female, docile and obedient, or an   
officer, remote and unapproachable. He accepted her for who she   
was.  
  
She knew that last case wouldn't last. The Syndic was still   
young, but eventually he would have to marry and produce an heir.   
He would be expected to wed a female of the noble classes, which   
Raine wasn't, and once that happened all they shared would stop,   
leaving nothing but the professional relationship between a Syndic   
and his phalanx commander. Apart from the need to avoid   
scandal, Vraet would never break his marriage vows: he was too   
honorable for that, one of the reason she'd fallen for him in the   
first place.  
  
  
She was thankful, though, that at least she hadn't been born   
into the noble classes. As a child she had watched the elegant,   
bejeweled noblewomen with envy on the rare occasions when one   
had appeared in a public place, but Raine had grown into a very   
practical adult and knew that, whatever the circumstances, the   
Chiss rulers would never allow their female counterparts to be   
anything more than ornaments.  
  
Protected and cared for at all times, Chiss noblewomen   
never permitted to exert themselves, physically or mentally: they   
weren't to leave their family's estates except in cases of extreme   
necessity, and all the household duties and decisions were made by   
servants. They weren't even allowed to raise their own children.   
A staff of nannies, governesses, tutors and, for the boy-children,   
retired officers to teach them proper standards of behavior,   
handled that. A Chiss lady could go for weeks at a time without   
even seeing her progeny.  
  
Perhaps that was the real reason for her unease. There was   
something she had to tell Vraet, and she was afraid to. She was   
afraid of what his reaction would be.  
  
"Commander, we are receiving a signal from the   
Guardian," the comm officer said. "It's a transmition of the First   
Priority to the Syndics of every House."  
  
Raine went into the adjoining conference room and waited   
with holograms of all the Syndics on Homeworld for Vraet's   
appearance.  
  
They were still waiting a few minutes later when The   
Long Reach of Death appeared in the system.  
  
**************************************************  
A few Chiss ships and fighters were sent out to investigate   
the massive object intruding on their space and moving slowly   
towards Homeworld, unwilling to believe something so vast and   
utterly devoid of metal or electrical signatures could be a vessel   
crafted by alien hands. When the scouts were crushed in much the   
way a being would swat an insect that annoyed him, the portion of   
the Expansionary Defense Fleet assigned to protect Homeworld   
quickly mustered for an attack.  
  
Aptly named, the worldship was shaped on the scale of a   
small planetoid, its ridges and craters concealing thousands of   
powerful dovin basals, oceans of plasma and projectiles with the   
speed, accuracy and explosive power of missiles. It's vulnerable   
internal organs were hidden away, deep beneath layers of yorrik   
coral hardened to match the strength of durasteel.  
  
Worst of all, it had a yammosk.  
  
**************************************************  
  
The war coordinator was squirming with pleasure now that   
it finally had the chance to do what it was shaped for. At its   
orders, the worldship stopped moving and waited for the Chiss   
fleet to begin its assault, thus freeing up all the dovin basals for   
defensive purposes. The yammosk ordered half the dovin basals to   
concentrate on defense while the other half stripped the Chiss   
vessels of their shields and worked to interfere with their   
maneuvers.  
  
When the infidel ships were in range the yammosk sent an   
order to the corralskipper pilots in the caves and canyons of the   
worldship?s surface, telling them to launch and engage the enemy   
fighters while the Long Reach dealt with the larger vessels.  
  
His mind joined to the vast consciousness of the yammosk,   
Sang Anor was aware of its decisions and gave his approval. In   
the yammosk's vast, rounded chamber at the very center of the   
worldship, the Executor stood beside the yammosk on a pillar of   
coral that stretched halfway to the ceiling, positioning the great,   
bulbus shape of the war coordinator at the exact center of the   
room.  
  
A ring of villips encircled the room, connected directly to   
the outermost sensory organs. Using a tiny part of its mental   
energy, the yammosk had combined the visual information to   
create a real-time representation of the battle below them.  
  
Across the room floated the green-blue world of the Chiss,   
its diameter about the length of both Sang Anor?s arms, turning   
slowly, unaware that the judgement of the gods was upon her and   
all that lived and breathed on her surface. The Long Reach of   
Death was near the foot of the pedestal. About a quarter of the   
planet's size, and streaking toward the worldship was the Chiss   
fleet, capital ships smaller than a finger-joint and fighters the size   
of dustmites.  
  
  
Sang Anor stepped away from the yammosk and walked   
slowly down the spiral stairway that ringed its pedestal. He   
stepped onto the floor and into the midst of the space battle.   
Titanic but unseen, like one of the gods themselves, he walked   
among the images that chased one another, shooting brief, bright   
blue darts of energy and yellow threads of plasma.  
  
He turned his eyes to one of the infidel vessels. "Expand   
this image, I want a closer look." He didn't need to raise his voice   
or indicate which part of the battle he meant. His bond with the   
yammosk communicated all that with the instinctive speed of   
thought.  
  
A bubble surrounded the capital ship. The bubble and the   
image within swelled to give Sang Anor a more detailed view.   
The yammosk directed its dovin basals to strip the battleship of its   
shields. The dovin basals seized the Chiss vessel and immobilized   
it while the yammosk guided three missiles to strike key points on   
the ship. The missiles, about the size of coralskippers, were   
controlled by small, very limited brains, but the yammosk guided   
the living projectiles with pinpoint accuracy. The capital ship   
vanished in a plume of fire, quickly extinguished by the cold of   
space.  
  
A sensible person would say it was sheer insanity to attack   
the Chiss Homeworld, the heart of what was probably the greatest   
power in the Unknown Regions. After considering what he'd   
learned from Wras, their Chiss convert, and from the disguised   
agents he'd sent to the target planet, he had concluded that the   
Chiss reputation for invincible strength was largely illusionary.  
  
While their soldiers were well-trained and their equipment   
was advanced, the Chiss officers and commanders were   
inexperienced, chosen more for breeding than ability. The Chiss   
hadn't fought a war in close to a thousand years and the   
Expansionary Defense Fleet was a hodgepodge of ships from every   
phalanx, with each division answering to their own commanders   
and Syndics rather than to any centralized command.   
Communication and coordination between the phalanxes was slow   
and sloppy.  
  
This arrangement worked well when it came to defending   
their boarders, but it couldn't compare to the power of the   
Yuuzhan Vong. Sang Anor's conclusion: the Chiss were in   
decline, vulnerable to attack.  
  
  
The worldship's dovin basals absorbed the volleys of blue   
energy bolts sent by the tiny Chiss vessels, then leisurely targeted   
ten at a time for destruction while the coralskippers, coordinated   
by the yammosk and piloted by beings who were literally one with   
their ships, tore through the Chiss fighters.  
  
Quite a show, but for Sang Anor it was only a side   
performance. The main event was still to come.  
  
He looked across the room at the Chiss planet, now almost   
undefended, and as if on cue the eight desk hai which had dropped   
out of hyperspace on the opposite side of the system closed in on   
the planet.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Lucky Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen  
  
A small convoy of four Chiss freighters bearing supplies   
from the outer systems of Chiss space had passed through the   
planetary shield directly before the worldship's incursion in the   
system. While the defending ships stationed around Homeworld   
hurried to engage the threat, ground control directed the freighters   
to an unloading berth planetside.  
  
Considering the excitement and surprise of having a battle   
occur in their sacrosanct Home system, it was no wonder ground   
control failed to notice the freighters weren't complying with their   
orders.  
  
While the ground officials first sent alerts, then warnings,   
the convoy divided and the four individual ships each made for a   
different hemisphere. Atmosphere fighters were sent after them.  
  
**************************************************  
"Closing in," a pilot reported, he checked the I.D. code the   
freighter had given before passing through the planetary shield.   
"Freighter Re'von'dak, you are ordered to divert course to your   
assigned landing berth." The cargo vessel gave no response.   
"Re'von'dak, comply with these orders or you will be shot   
down," the pilot warned. "Re'von'dak, respond." Still no   
answer. "Blade Six," he communicated to one of his squadron   
mates, "fire a warning shot."  
  
Before the fighter could carry out the order, however, the   
freighter self-destructed.  
  
"Kinless!" The pilot cursed as he angled his fighter away   
from the explosion. "What in all the hells was that about?" He   
muttered, then switched comm frequencies. "Ground control, the   
freighter has self-destructed. Repeat, the freighter-"  
  
"Acknowledged, Blade Lead," came the stunned voice from   
the comm, "the other three have just done likewise. Return to   
base."  
  
"Yes, sir." The pilot turned his fighter back in the direction   
of the shipyard. Glancing out the cockpit, he noticed something   
odd, though: a dark, purple mist, was quickly spreading from the   
freighter's explosion.  
  
  
The destroyed vessel, like its three comrades, had been   
pulled out of hyperspace by the Yuuzhan Vong before reaching the   
Home system. In the place of its cargo of minerals and other   
goods was a substance that, when ignited by the fire of the   
explosion and exposed to the planet's atmosphere, would have a   
dramatic effect on Homeworld indeed.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
Raine glanced out the viewport and saw the ugly, blue-  
black color spreading like a bruise over Homeworld's beautiful sky   
and ordered the remainder of Vraet's phalanx to remain in orbit   
when the other warships flew out to meet the attacker. The three   
capital ships, five gunboats and assorted fighters would make little   
difference in the battle, and the disturbance in the atmosphere   
tugged at her suspicions. The planet seemed vulnerable with all   
the other ships engaged, and the thought of Homeworld violated   
was enough to make her shudder.  
  
It was probably nothing serious: whatever was happening   
would be explained and repaired after the attackers were repulsed.   
The notion of Homeworld's vulnerability was an illusion: the   
planetary shield was at full strength and-  
  
"Commander, unidentified bodies approaching   
Homeworld." The comm officer broke into her thoughts.  
  
"Ships?" She asked.  
  
"Doubtful, no metal content or electrical signature. I'd say   
they were asteroids, but they?re moving too fast."  
  
"How many?"  
  
"Eight. Big ones."  
  
By now, Raine could see them herself. Eight objects, each   
roughly the size of one of the Empire's Star Destroyers, moving   
over the sky. As the officer said, they resembled asteroids. Porous   
asteroids: they were dotted with holes each the size of a fighter, so   
that they resembled vastly overgrown sponges.  
  
"Move in, target and attack."  
  
*****************************************************  
The desk hai had indeed begun as asteroids, drifting in the   
Sevac system's belt before the Yuuzhan Vong began shaping them.   
Their creatures hollowed out the rocks and filled them with   
internal organs, nervous systems, brains and dovin basals for   
propulsion and to act in concert with their weapons to fulfil the   
purpose they were shaped for.  
  
They were almost in position when one detected the   
machines advancing on them. The desk hai reported this to the   
yammosk, an instant later it received instructions.  
  
The desk hai focused attention on the capital ship and the   
gunship behind it and launched a projectile from one of its   
multitude of pores. Driven by a dovin basal designed to poses   
incredible strength and tasked to expend all that energy in a single   
effort, a long spike of coral shot toward the Chiss ship.  
  
******************************************************  
Raine's eyes widened as a capital ship and the gunboat   
behind it exploded.  
  
"Pull back!" She spun to a sensor station. The officer was   
bent over a console, replaying sensor readings.  
  
"It shot a projectile at us, commander, at incredible   
velocity."  
  
Raine looked out the viewport. "A projectile? Where is   
it?"  
  
"Probably halfway across the system by now."  
  
"But how could it get through the shields?"  
  
"The same way a hurricane can drive a stalk of hay through   
a tree trunk. With enough speed behind it, an object can tear   
through anything."  
  
Raine felt her skin turn clammy. Her whole body went   
numb. "If a missile got through our energy barriers," she   
murmured, "then the planetary shield-" she turned to stare out the   
viewport as the desk hai loosed their first volley.  
  
Eight missiles streaked through the shield and the   
discolored sky like a diver breaking the surface of a lake. Raine   
and her crew felt the impact like a blow to their own flesh as, for   
the first time in the history of the Chiss, alien weapons touched   
Homeworld.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The missiles struck the planet's crust and dug deep.   
Information obtained from Wrass and Yuuzhan Vong spies had   
allowed the yammosk to map the fault lines of the planet, where   
the projectiles were directed.  
  
At the proper time the material in the missiles activated,   
and the ground rose and sank beneath Chiss buildings. Some   
missiles struck in the oceans, sending kilometer-high waves to   
annihilate the coastal cities.  
  
And more missiles were on their way.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
The aliens sent a third volley, then a fourth, while the crew   
watched in horrified silence. Raine had to struggle to speak, and   
when she did her voice was a loud croak, but in got attention.  
  
"Order fighters to attack." An officer looked at her, scarlet   
eyes blinking in confusion.   
  
"Commander-?"  
  
"The fighters are too small to target, they might be able to   
get close."  
  
"What good can fighters do-?"  
  
"They can distract the kinless things!" Emotion colored her   
voice, but for once she didn?t care. "Interfere with them, ram   
them if they have too! This is Homeworld!"  
  
  
Galvanized by having orders to follow, the officer relayed   
her instructions.  
  
******************************************************  
"Enlarge the planet and worldship and cut away all   
intervening space," Sang Anor said to the yammosk, "I want to see   
every detail."  
  
The two images flickered and reappeared side-by-side, both   
more than tripled in size. Sang Anor clasped his hands at the small   
of his back and slowly circled them, eyes shifting from one scene   
to the other. Blue darts, yellow flares, brief blossoms of   
explosions, the pristine sky of the Chiss planet was stained blue-  
black, as though ink was injected into a crystal globe of water.   
The Executor thought he could see the surface shuddering from the   
initial quakes.  
  
His mouth twitched up in a smile. What could make this   
moment more complete?  
  
Sang Anor's face fell as the happy sensation in his chest   
turned into a cold lump that weighed down on his stomach. He   
knew the answer to that question.  
  
If Lyrra Anor were here. That would do it. We would   
dance together as the Chiss planet was massacred. The yammosk   
chamber suddenly seemed very large, very empty despite the   
flashing, bright images and the presence of the war coordinator.  
  
He shook himself, willed the grief away. Walking between   
the represented battles, ships and fighters passing through his   
body, he caught sight of some new arrivals. Like a small school of   
silver-white fish looking to gobble up the strips of flesh from a sea   
predator's mouth, thirty Imperial Star Destroyers appeared near the   
worldship.  
  
"Ah, Thrawn." A small smile devoid of humor twisted   
Sang Anor's lips. "Right on schedule." He glanced up at the   
yammosk. "Pull all forces back and head for the nearest   
hyperspace jump points." He paced over to stand directly in front   
of the Star Destroyers and extended one hand. His claws brushed   
lightly against the underside of the image, as though the Star   
Destroyer was a fish he would gut in one swipe. "We've set the   
scene, time to take a bow and let Thrawn enjoy the renovations   
we've done on his old home."  
  
He glanced back at the planet, and was both surprised and   
mildly annoyed to see there were only seven desk hai now. While   
his attention had been elsewhere one of the living spacefarers had   
broken into several pieces by fire from the Chiss vessels. He sent a   
questioning thought to the yammosk and the coordinator dropped   
the information into his mind: the Chiss had sent fighter crafts to   
harass the desk hai, unable to target the small, fast ships it had   
been forced to use its dovin basals defensively. When the gravity-  
manipulating organisms tired and the desk hai was left helpless,   
the capital ships and gunboats had moved in to finish it off.  
  
If only there'd been time to send an escort of   
coralskippers to join them. Sang Anor shook his head. Well, the   
distraction his worldship provided had at least allowed the desk hai   
to complete their mission with a minimum of interference, had   
saved seven out of eight. Obeying the yammosk, the surviving   
desk hai were moving away and were almost to the hyperspace   
departure point. I can always have more shaped later, he   
reflected as the coralskippers returned to their perches.  
  
************************************************  
When hyperspace resolved into star-specked night of   
realspace and Parck saw the Long Reach of Death for the first   
time he thought he was looking at moon or a rogue planetoid   
around which a battle was being fought. Only when he saw the   
gouts of plasma and numerous, living, guided missiles launch from   
the craters that pitted the surface and destroy shining Chiss   
battleships did he understand that this was the worldship he had   
heard about.  
  
The term worldship echoed in his brain with new   
meaning as he beheld the raw, terrifying size of their enemy.   
The Long Reach rivaled the Death Star in scale, but there was   
no unshielded exhaust port in this mammoth, and they had no   
Rebel Jedi to destroy it single-handed.  
  
Parck had looked forward to open warfare, an end to the   
enemy's attacks from the shadows: he knew there were only a few   
Yuuzhan Vong in the galaxy so he had assumed the Empire would   
have the power to crush them once they had come out in the open,   
but even with these thirty Star Destroyers he felt like a sandmite   
trying to fight a raging bantha, he wouldn't know where to start   
attacking this thing. The Long Reach could probably swallow   
the entire Unity Fleet!  
  
"Families help us," Beyin murmured beside him, the   
distinguished Chiss was visibly trembling, "that thing is fighting an   
entire fleet." He turned his red eyes to the Chiss Homeworld in the   
distance to see if the planet was safe, and started.  
  
"No..." Thrawn whispered, the single word trailed off into   
a silence of horror and despair. Parck followed their eyes to the   
planet and understood. He had never seen the Chiss Homeworld   
personally, had only viewed holograms and other such images, and   
in those the planet had been a lovely blue-green, not the blue-black   
of a fresh bruise.  
  
Abruptly, Parck felt a chill creep across him. He looked   
around and saw that every Chiss on the bridge had fallen silent.   
Stations went unattended as over a dozen pairs of red eyes were   
fixed on the distant world. Blue faces were frozen in some stark   
emotion they all seemed to share. The emotion seemed to have   
transferred to the human crewers as well: a deathlike silent hung   
over the entire bridge.  
  
"Stations!" Thrawn roared. Parck spun around, he had   
never heard the Grand Admiral raise his voice in anger before.   
Cords stood out on his neck, clearly visible under his blue skin,   
and his eyes were so bright the captain had to look away. "Launch   
fighters! All ships, converge and engage enemy!" Without   
realizing it he took three steps forward, as though he would walk   
through the viewport, across the vacuum and assault the worldship   
with his bare fists, then managed to jerk himself to a halt.  
  
The crewers turned back to their consoles, but despite the   
illusion of business-as-usual Parck felt his skin turn clammy. The   
pain and shock that had rippled through the ship was still there, but   
had hardened and turned to hate fiercer than a sun?s forge. He   
could sense all that rage and hate focusing on the worldship.   
Swarms of TIE fighters streaked from the Imperial ships.  
  
"Admiral," a Chiss crew said sharply, "the enemy is falling   
back, vectoring toward the hyperspace jump point!"  
  
Thrawn raised two tightly-clenched fists as the planet-sized   
spheroid elongated an impossible distance before vanishing into   
hyperspace.  
  
************************************************  
After the Long Reach of Death departed, the Imperial   
fleet was forced to withdraw before the remaining Chiss ships   
turned on them. The Star Destroyers remained at the Cavexil base   
at the edge of Chiss space while Thrawn sent constant messages to   
his former House and Syndic Taesk's. Seven hours later Taesk   
responded. The older Chiss, obviously distraught, proposed a face-  
to-face meeting the following day, to which Thrawn agreed.  
  
***********************************************  
Thrawn, Parck and Beyin waited in the Annihilator's   
hanger bay while the two shuttles, one from each of the Chiss   
capital ships that had arrived in-system moments before, pulled in   
and settled down.  
  
Parck alternated between watching the shuttled and   
Thrawn and Beyin. Word of what the Yuuzhan Vong had done   
was spreading throughout the fleet. No one in the Empire knew   
how extensive the damage to the Chiss Homeworld was yet, but   
the mere fact that aliens had struck at the origin of the Chiss had   
sent the entire alien segment of the Empire into mourning. Parck   
was worried: he wasn't sure what kind of effect this disaster was   
having on the Grand Admiral.  
  
The boarding hatches of the shuttles lifted and the ramps   
lowered to the floor. A party of Chiss departed each shuttle, one   
wearing the blue-and-gold uniforms of Taesk's Household phalanx,   
the other the burgundy of Vraet's. Syndic Taesk himself was   
present, along with his phalanx commander and two other officers.   
The old Chiss was tall and straight-backed, but Parck sensed   
something brittle and damaged about him. His craggy, white-  
haired face was devoid of expression, his glowing eyes muted.  
  
Parck turned his attention to the other party and watched   
them with some interest: as he understood it this had originally   
been Thrawn's House. They were almost down the ramp. Parck   
looked and felt his eyes widen. The center Chiss, wearing a   
uniform with the insignia of a phalanx commander, was female.  
  
The Captain fought the urge to rub his eyes, just to be   
certain they weren't lying to him. After all, the Empire was an   
admittedly patriarchal society, but the Chiss made them look   
positively liberal by comparison!  
  
Apparently, no one had told this particular female that. Or   
if they had, she'd knocked the speaker down and walked over him.  
  
Parck was curious. Most of the Chiss females he'd seen   
had worn veils or other facial coverings in public, and all had kept   
their red eyes modestly downcast. This commander didn't look   
like someone who would back down from anyone or anything, and   
while female Chiss tended to move in an elegant, gliding fashion,   
she moved with an almost feline grace that seemed natural for her,   
this was enhanced by her mane of blue-black hair. This was a   
dangerous person. Parck was intimidated.  
  
He had another reason for staring as well: the Chiss   
commander was extraordinarily beautiful. For an alien, that is.  
  
Her party stepped down to the deck and stood at attention.   
Like all the other Chiss he'd seen in the past day, her face seemed   
cast in stone. As expressive as a sculpture of ice. This didn't   
make the aliens seem aloof or unfeeling, though. Rather Parck   
sensed they were all caught up in grief so strong it threatened to   
overwhelm and shatter them if they were to lose control, even for   
an instant.  
  
Abruptly, Parck realized he'd been staring at the female   
Chiss for a long time and jerked his eyes away. He tried his best to   
control the flush he felt heating his face. There's no need to   
worry, he thought, they just think of humans as animals with   
clothes anyway. There's no reason for them to take notice of me or   
my reactions.  
  
He watched as the Syndic stepped forward and extended   
his hand. Thrawn clasped his forearm and they exchanged   
greetings in the strange, musical language of the Chiss.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
"Mith'raw'nuruodo," Taesk said in their own language, "we   
greet each other in person again. We always knew it would require   
the end of all we knew before that could happen. How right we   
were." The joke was a bitter one. Taesk had never seemed so old   
before, so frail. Something had been broken inside the great   
Syndic, never to be restored.  
  
"Have you lost loved ones?" Thrawn asked   
sympathetically.  
  
"Three children, five grandchildren," Taesk nodded. "I am   
the last of my line."  
  
"I am sorry." That was all he could say, and it would never   
be enough. "I have heard," Thrawn swallowed a hitch in his throat   
before continuing, "about my son. Has Kethria survived?"  
  
"She has." Taesk withdrew his hand. "But she will not   
speak with you. She's gone into seclusion with her relatives in the   
Gel'ra colony, but she gave me a message for you first." His mouth   
twitched. "She said that the only thing you two still shared was   
now dead. She wants nothing to do with you. All that was yours,   
your territories, property and phalanx," the female commander   
didn't move, but the glow of her eyes flared, "she returns to you."  
  
"But," Thrawn blinked in surprise, "with Vraet's...death, all   
he had in Chiss space is hers."  
  
"And she has bestowed it on you."  
  
"But by the ruling of the High Families I no longer exist!"   
Thrawn snapped.  
  
"Nevertheless, you are restored." His voice was dust-dry.   
"I greet you, Syndic Mith'raw'nuruodo."  
  
"I have no place in Chiss territory," Thrawn shook his head,   
"not any longer. My phalanx I'll accept, I will have need of them,"   
he nodded respectfully to the commander, and if anything that   
seemed to make her more affronted, "but as for the rest: give what   
lands I now control on our colony worlds as homes for the refugees   
from Homeworld, and give all the monies I poses to the same. I   
trust you to handle it."  
  
"Of course." Taesk nodded absently, then turned to Beyin.   
"It's been a long time, General."  
  
"I only wish circumstances could have been better, Lord."   
He answered.  
  
Thrawn looked around. "I apologize for keeping you   
waiting out here. Come, I have a conference room prepared." He   
looked from Taesk to Vraet's-to his-phalanx commander.   
"Your officers and guards may remain."  
  
"So be it," Taesk said, "but my phalanx commander will   
accompany me." He glanced at the young Chiss beside him, who   
nodded sharply.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
"I ask you to speak Basic," Thrawn said as the door slid   
shut, leaving himself, Parck, Beyin and the three Expansionary   
Defense Fleet Chiss in the conference room, "for the benefit of   
Captain Parck."  
  
"Very well." If Taesk was insulted, he didn't show it.   
Truthfully he didn't seem to be anything besides weary. "This is   
Raine, your phalanx commander." He gestured to the female   
Chiss, who said nothing. Parck had never seen a Chiss who openly   
despised Thrawn before, but he suspected he had just met one.  
  
"I'm honored. Now tell us: how extensive was the damage   
to Homeworld?"  
  
"Total." Raine spoke. "The aggressors launched missiles   
that produce massive seismic shifts into Homeworld's crust.   
Earthquakes and tidal waves have destroyed every structure on the   
surface. Loss of life is horrifying." The commander spoke Basic   
in the precise manner of the Chiss. "In addition, they released a   
toxin into the atmosphere before launching their attack. Our   
scientists have determined that the toxin is converting   
Homeworld?s oxygen into other elements. Within days   
Homeworld will be devoid of oxygen and the surface temperature   
will have increased by five hundred percent. No living thing will   
survive, and nothing will ever be able to live there again."  
  
"We have heard that the council of Syndics have survived."   
Beyin said. "What are they planning?"  
  
"Yes, the council managed to get off Homeworld in time."   
Taesk nodded. "Most of their resources are tied up with   
evacuating refugees to other Chiss worlds, but they are planning a   
large-scale war as well." He looked at Thrawn and Beyin.   
"Against the Ssi-ruuk."  
  
"But that makes no sense!" Beyin exploded. "It was the   
Yuuzhan Vong who attacked us, the Ssi-ruuk had nothing to do   
with this. Why go to war with them?"  
  
"There are times I envy you, Beyin." Thrawn smiled   
bitterly. "You're a military man, not a politician, the galaxy is a   
much simpler place for you." The words, delivered from an old   
friend, had no sting as they weren't meant as an insult. "It makes   
perfect sense, am I right Taesk?"  
  
"Yes," the old Syndic nodded, "apparently someone, I   
suspect these Yuuzhan Vong, have been spreading a rumor that the   
Ssi-ruuk were, in fact, behind the assault, but even if these extra   
galactic had no part the falsehood I can easily imagine the Syndic's   
leaping to that conclusion. Our people are proud. We would only   
accept that a great power could do this to us, and the Ssi-ruuk are   
the only such power nearby. All attention will naturally focus on   
them."  
  
"But can't you just tell them the truth about the Yuuzhan   
Vong?" Parck found himself speaking without even being aware   
of making the decision to open his mouth. Immediately he was the   
focal point of five pairs of glowing, red eyes. He swallowed and   
forced himself to go on. "I mean, if they knew the Yuuzhan Vong   
were responsible wouldn't they change their plans?"  
  
"It wouldn't work," Thrawn shook his head, "after   
something like this the Chiss will need a war of retribution, our   
blood cries out for one."  
  
"And the Syndics have already publicly declared war on the   
Ssi-ruuk," Raine said, her voice carried the cold of vacuum, "they   
can?t retract now, it would be political suicide. The war will come   
and no one can stop it, the strongest of the Chiss will be sent to die   
in a useless fight.." Her eyes narrowed. "Politicians, if my phalanx   
ever had any respect for them, they never will again."  
  
"Sang Anor is more cunning than I gave him credit for."   
Thrawn admitted. "He must have foreseen using the Ssi-ruuk as   
scapegoats, they were probably high on his list of targets all along:   
their practice of entechment must be an affront to him."  
  
He turned and began pacing. "The Chiss and the Ssi-ruuk,   
the two great powers of the Unknown Regions, at war. Whoever   
wins will be weakened and the Yuuzhan Vong will finish them   
easily, clearing the way for them to rule the Unknown Regions."   
He passed Taesk and his phalanx commander. "We are the only   
ones left standing in his way."  
  
Taesk's commander, a tall Chiss with a grim expression,   
turned toward Thrawn and, in a movement so fluid Parck failed to   
react, pulled a coufee from his sleeve. He grinned suddenly,   
showing sharp teeth, and stabbed at the Grand Admiral's   
unguarded back.  
  
And while Parck and the others did nothing, Raine put her   
hands on the edge of the conference table and leapt, pivoting her   
body to kick the knife-hand off course as she propelled herself   
over the table.  
  
Thrawn jumped away, spinning and reaching for his   
blaster, but Raine and the false Chiss were already locked in   
combat.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong in the blue masquer hissed and   
narrowed his red-dyed eyes. He stabbed, underhand, with the   
coufee but Raine blocked and, moving faster than Parck's eye   
could follow, spun and slammed an elbow against the alien's   
temple. The Vong staggered back but didn't drop his blade and   
Raine followed through with a series of kicks and punches.  
  
Taesk watched all this calmly, then turned to Thrawn and   
began to draw his charric. He was stopped by a hand that seized   
his wrist in a grip strong as durasteel. He turned to meet the cold   
face and burning eyes of General Beyin. The General had drawn   
his blaster and aimed in at Taesk's head, and now he removed the   
Syndic's hand from his weapon and disarmed him. Taesk bowed   
his head and said nothing.  
  
Three seconds later the Vong assassin was dead at Raine's   
feet. Breathing hard, she turned red eyes to Taesk.  
  
"Traitor." She snarled in the Chiss language.  
  
"Taesk." The fire Thrawn's eyes dwarfed that of the other   
three Chiss combined. "My colleague," he walked toward the   
older Chiss, "my mentor, my friend!" He seized Taesk's collar,   
forced him back and slammed him against the wall, driving the air   
from the old Chiss. "Were you working with the Yuuzhan Vong   
all this time?" Thrawn spoke through clenched teeth. "Tell me the   
truth before I kill you. Were you reporting to Sang Anor? Were   
you a part of what happened to Homeworld?" He shouted into   
Taesk's face.  
  
"No!" Taesk shouted back, fury breaking through his   
misery. "Sang Anor contacted me three hours after the attack on   
Homeworld. One of his agents, disguised as a Chiss, brought me   
a..." he stumbled over the word, "a villip I think he called it. The   
Executor said, he promised," Taesk swallowed, "he said it was   
within his power to restore Homeworld. His people could cleanse   
the air and stop the quakes, make our world livable again, and he   
would do all this if I brought one of his assassins into your   
presence."  
  
"What of the dead?" Raine demanded. "Did he also   
promise to restore them too?" Families! This savage has the blood   
of our people on his hands and you dealt with him?"  
  
"You would violate one of the oldest of the traditions,"   
Beyin seethed, "you would assassinate a fellow Chiss during   
parley. You would collude with the aliens who attacked   
Homeworld." He was ready and willing to open fire on the Syndic.  
  
"Yes!" He shouted defiantly, but his eyes never left   
Thrawn's. "Yes to all." He stared at Thrawn's enraged face.   
"Mith'raw'nuruodo, what is the first thing I taught you? What is a   
Syndic's first duty?"  
  
"To protect his people." Thrawn answered slowly.  
  
"And you betrayed that oath!" He snapped. "You were the   
one who brought this down on us! You went out into the chaos   
and savagery of greater galaxy, and you led that savagery back to   
your people!" His face crumpled and he squeezed his eyes shut,   
chest heaving as he gulped in air. Parck realized this was the Chiss   
equivalent of sobbing.  
  
"By the Families I wish I had never entered your life." He   
managed to say at last. "This is what comes of breaking with   
tradition, I see that now. Now that it's too late." He glared at   
Beyin, who still held a blaster trained on him. "Go on and execute   
me, I deserve it for my part in this. By encouraging Thrawn I am   
as guilty as if I placed a charric in a murderer's hand." He shook   
his head. "They, the Vong, they would have left us alone if not for   
you."  
  
For an eternity, Thrawn said nothing.  
  
"Put the blaster away, Beyin." He released Taesk. "Look at   
me." He used his most compelling voice, and the other Syndic   
raised his crimson eyes to meet Thrawn's. "Sang Anor lied to   
you," he enunciated each word carefully, "I know grief and guilt   
are tearing you apart, but you must use your mind to understand   
that. He would not have left the Chiss alone. The Vong must have   
been planning this or something like it all along, judging from how   
quickly they were able to put it into effect. Sang Anor meant to   
conquer all the Unknown Regions before taking on the Empire.   
My actions accelerated those plans, yes, but it would have come   
anyway. You spoke to him yourself, so you must understand that.   
And you must understand that even if he could restore Homeworld,   
he never will."  
  
He looked at Beyin. "Give me his charric." The General   
complied and Thrawn slid the weapon back into Taesk's holster.   
The older Syndic didn't react, but Beyin started and Raine looked   
ready for another fight. Parck was surprised as well: the Grand   
Admiral was never one to let treachery go unpunished.  
  
"Sir, he has dishonored himself and his people-" Beyin   
began, and Thrawn turned and quieted him with a look.  
  
"Enough Chiss have died already." He said. "I will not kill   
another one." He looked back at Taesk. "And I know the lengths   
that grief can drive someone to." He took all the residents of the   
conference room in at a glance. "This never happened." There   
was command in his voice and eyes. "As far as anyone outside this   
room will ever know, nothing more than a conference took place   
here." He glanced at the dead Vong. "We will have to think up a   
story to explain his disappearance to your other officers." He said   
to Taesk.  
  
The white haired Chiss was watching Thrawn as though he   
were a thing beyond comprehension. Then he stepped forward and   
embraced the younger man. Thrawn returned the embrace, patting   
Taesk on the back as though he were a child.  
  
"I'm sorry," Taesk was whispering, "I'm so sorry."  
  
"I know." Thrawn murmured back.  
  
*******************************************************  
  
After Taesk and his ship had departed, minus one   
crewmember, Thrawn burst into his chambers on the   
Annihilator, and sealed the door behind him. He sat down in   
front of the captured villip and touched it's ridge.  
  
"Sang Anor!" He shouted in Basic. "I know you're   
listening! Face me!" For a moment there was nothing, then he felt   
the strange, humming, vibration in the arteries of his skull and the   
villip inverted, taking on the scarred and tattooed features of the   
Executor.  
  
"Hello again." The villip smiled politely.  
  
"Your assassin failed."  
  
"I surmised as much." The cool smile remained, and the   
representation's eyes seemed to gleam.  
  
"You never intended for him to succeed." Thrawn   
continued coldly. "You wanted to force me to kill Taesk, after   
showing me how you'd forced him to dishonor himself." It was his   
turn to smile now, a hard, sharp twist of lips. "It didn't work.   
Taesk lives."  
  
The Vong's confident smile faltered a little, only to slip   
back into place. "A pity. That was to be the final touch: first your   
son, then your world, then the teacher and father-figure responsible   
for shaping your mind. Ah well, no one ever gets everything they   
want." He chuckled. "I'd hoped you would thank me for all the   
thought I put into this. There is an art to causing pain, you know,   
and you of all people should be able to appreciate my work."  
  
"And I suppose there is a purpose to all this besides   
showing off your skill?" Thrawn snarled.  
  
"I consider it throwing down the gauntlet." Sang Anor   
answered. "You were correct when we last spoke, Admiral: I am   
tired of all this dancing around. It's time we brought this conflict   
to a decisive end."  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
"Look for me in what you call the Sevac system, it seems   
fitting that this should end where it began, don't you think? I will   
be waiting for you there. With my worldship, my seed world and   
all my strength. Bring all the ships you want, bring your entire   
infidel fleet. Only one of us will leave that star system alive, and   
to him goes the Unknown Regions."  
  
"And if I choose not to take you up on the offer?"  
  
"Then what happened to your homeworld will be repeated   
on every planet the Empire controls in the Unknown Regions, and   
all those who placed themselves under your protection will find   
they have really drawn targets on themselves and their loved ones."   
The smile broadened. "I will be waiting for you."  
  
"You wont wait long." Thrawn promised. He pushed away   
from the table, stood and drew his blaster. "And I hope you feel   
this." He hissed as he squeezed the trigger.  
  
The blaster bolt tore through the villip, demolishing Sang   
Anor's face as the communication creature was reduced to pulp.   
Thrawn fired three more shots into the table, until the remains   
smoked and curled.  
  
******************************************************  
Captain Parck entered Thrawn's VIP suite in the   
Annihilator and heard the doors slide shut behind him. He   
frowned, squinting in the dim light, then saw the glow of the   
Grand Admiral's eyes as he turned his swivel-chair around.  
  
"Ahhhh." The Chiss blinked a few times. "Captain."  
  
"Sir, I just received a message from Moff Niriz," Parck said   
as he stepped forward, "repairs to the Imperator are complete   
and she is spaceworthy again. I thought we could discuss strategy   
for when we arrive-" he trailed off, noticing Thrawn's distracted   
state and the sour smell that tainted the metallic air of the Star   
Destroyer. "Sir, are you well."  
  
"Don't worry about me, Captain." Thrawn stood, and the   
human saw he was a little unsteady on his feet. He held an almost-  
empty bottle in one hand and a few others were on a nearby table.   
"I am merely," he paused mid-sentence, "conducting an   
experiment." He took a few steps forward, and Parck again noted   
that slight unsteadiness.  
  
"An experiment, sir?"  
  
"Yes." He smiled a little. "I am testing the theory," he   
seemed to lose his train of thought, "that consumption of alcohol,"   
another pause, "can lessen a being's grief." He looked at the bottle   
for a long moment, then tilted his head back and drained the last of   
the fluid. "It doesn't work." He concluded.  
  
Parck licked his lips. "Uh, sir-"  
  
"I made this happen, you know." Thrawn said.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Homeworld. Taesk degraded. V-Vraet." He stumbled   
over the last name. "I knew. You see. If I pushed Sang Anor hard   
enough. If I frustrated him. He would have to. Come out into the.   
Open." He walked past Parck, a slow, purposeful stride.   
Suddenly, he broke out into laughter.  
  
"I. Manipulated him very well. Didn't I. Captain?" He   
pivoted and, with a cry of rage, hurled the bottle across the room to   
shatter against the wall. He watched the pieces fall to the floor,   
then slowly turned to face Parck. "I'm so clever. Aren't I? So   
brilliant." He closed his eyes. "My son is dead. Captain." His   
voice and faced were composed, betrayed no emotion, which made   
his announcement all the more terrible. "My only child. My son.   
Dead." He frowned and looked at his hands, then back at Parck.  
  
"Captain, I believe I'm drunk."  
  
Parck nodded slowly. "I would have to agree, sir." He   
understood now. The Admiral's deliberate movements, so   
carefully controlled, were to keep him from staggering. He was   
speaking in that halting, equally deliberate way to keep from   
slurring. The proper way for a Syndic to behave was trained into   
him so deeply that he couldn't abandon it, even in drunkenness.   
Parck suddenly felt sorry for his superior.  
  
"Perhaps you should. Run things. Onship. While I.   
Recover." There was an armchair behind him. Parck expected   
Thrawn to collapse into it, but the Grand Admiral slowly lowered   
himself and leaned his head back. "I believe I will. Sleep. Now."   
The glowing eyes closed and his breathing became deep and   
regular. Parck retreated, allowing Thrawn to retain his dignity.  
  
**************************************************  
He ran across General Beyin in the corridor. He expected   
the Chiss general to be as cold and aloof to him as he was to every   
other human, but once again he was in for a surprise.  
  
"You've spoken with Mith'raw'nuruodo, I take it?" The   
Chiss fell into step beside him.  
  
"Yes." Parck said carefully. "I spoke to him concerning   
matters of strategy."  
  
"I had heard that the Grand Admiral had ordered several   
bottles of Corellian whiskey brought to his quarters, from the   
captain's private collection." Beyin said quietly. "I had also heard   
that you were on your way to see him and came to stop you. I felt   
that the Grand Admiral would not want to be disturbed." He   
turned and caught Parck by the arm, his glowing eyes boring into   
the Captain. "Thrawn in a strong man, and he feels for his people,   
as well as every being under his protection. It is a great burden."   
He leaned close to Parck. "A strong man, in the midst of great   
tragedy, may be permitted a moment of weakness."  
  
Parck met the other's stare. "I have great respect for the   
Grand Admiral, General. I saw nothing out of the ordinary in his   
rooms."  
  
Beyin nodded and withdrew his hand. "Captain," he   
frowned, "when I first joined Unity Fleet I could not understand   
why the Admiral allowed you, a human, to serve in such close   
proximity to him. I make no secret that I had a low opinion of   
your race, but recently I have begun to reevaluate that opinion."   
Beyin's lips tightened and he hunched his shoulders a little. "You   
are a good and worthy man, Captain Parck, as are many of the   
humans in this fleet. It has been an honor to serve with you."   
Parck blinked. Beyin. Cold, superior Beyin, actually looked   
uncomfortable!  
  
"I do no make friends easily." The General finally said. "It   
is not in my nature, but I would be honored to number you among   
them." He extended his hand.  
  
Parck smiled a little and returned the handshake. A small   
smile lightened Beyin's normally grim expression a fraction.  
  
"General, I would be delighted to call you a friend." He even   
chuckled a little. "Perhaps, after all this is over, assuming we   
survive that is, you could join me for a drink?"  
  
"If Thrawn and the First Families see us through this,   
Captain," Beyin's smile widened a fraction, "I'll buy rounds for the   
entire fleet."  
  
******************************************************  
Raine entered Thrawn's chambers in the Imperator, to   
find the Grand Admiral sitting in contemplation of a half-dozen   
holograms of Yuuzhan Vong bodies, hanging in midair and slowly   
turning. If she was surprised she didn't show it, any more than she   
had evidenced being impressed at the workmanship of the new   
model Star Destroyer.  
  
Thrawn saw her and deactivated the holograms.  
  
"Commander," he nodded as she approached the chair, then   
winced a little.  
  
"Is there something wrong?"  
  
"No, no," he rubbed his temples, "I'm just paying for some   
foolishness. I take it you wish to review strategies for the   
imminent battle?"  
  
"No, sir." She handed him a datapad. "This contains the   
names and specification of every vessel in the phalanx." A small   
fleet of ships had accompanied the Imperials back to Orrsa, where   
the repaired Imperator waited for the fleet's supreme   
commander. "It also lists all members of the phalanx. There is a   
separate list of officers for my replacement."  
  
Thrawn looked up. "I have no plans to replace you." He   
set the datapad down. "I've reviewed your performance as Syndic   
Vraet's phalanx commander, you seem highly effective."  
  
"It was because of me that my Syndic died." She said.   
Thrawn looked at her sharply.  
  
"How so?"  
  
"I should have been the one leading his phalanx in a   
counterattack. I allowed him to go to his death."  
  
"It was his decision, as I understand it." Thrawn said   
carefully. "I don't see how you could have stopped him."  
  
"I could have." Raine said calmly. "I could have given him   
a concussion."  
  
"Yes, I suppose you could have." Thrawn said quietly.   
"But the fact remains, your record in combat is impressive. We   
have a powerful enemy to defeat, and even with all Unity Fleet  
combined with my phalanx there is no sure guarantee of victory.  
I will need you and your familiarity with commanding the phalanx.  
You will also be important if I am to successfully integrate Vraet's..."  
he paused, "my phalanx with Unity Fleet afterwards."  
  
"May I speak freely, Admiral?" Raine asked.  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I recognize the threat of the Yuuzhan Vong and the need   
to defeat them, but after they have been repaid for Homeworld I   
have no intention of remaining in your service." She clasped her   
hands behind her back. "You have been a long-standing threat to   
the Chiss and I have no desire to help you conquer them for your   
Emperor."  
  
"And yet you saved my life yesterday, when an assassin's knife  
would have killed me."  
  
"Only because you spoke the truth when you said the Empire was all  
that stood in the way of the Yuuzhan Vong. You will be needed to  
defeat them." Her voice was cold. "But I have no love for you."  
She grimaced. "The universe has a fine sense of humor. Just days  
ago I was your enemy, now I find I must serve you. For a time."  
  
"The Empire is the way of the future, Commander. I would   
not have sacrificed so much for it if that was not my belief."  
  
"I disagree, Admiral. I will not be part of a phalanx that  
serves you for a second longer than I must."  
  
Thrawn leaned back and regarded her thoughtfully. "I   
understand." He stood up. "But I would like to persuade you to   
remain in the Fleet awhile longer, even if it is not as a member of   
my phalanx."  
  
"For what reason?"  
  
"You were Vraet's lover." Raine jerked as though an   
electrical current ran through her.  
  
Anger flared in her eyes. "That had nothing to do with my   
promotion." She said in a harsh whisper.  
  
"I believe that." Thrawn nodded. "Let me explain   
something," he began to pace the floor in front of her, "when I was   
exiled, Vraet was little more than a child. I missed watching him   
grow up, and when I next spoke to him it was as a man, one with   
views completely different from my own." he frowned. "I always   
held out the hope that I would be reunited with my family, but on   
my terms." He shook his head. "Pride. I wanted Vraet to admit   
that I was right. Now it's too late."  
  
He faced her. "But you knew Vraet better than anyone else   
would. I would be grateful if you would tell me about the kind of   
person he was. How he felt about me."  
  
Raine's eyes narrowed. "You want to know how he felt   
about you?" She raised a brow. "He hated you and all you stood   
for, but at the same time he yearned to prove himself worthy of   
you. That's why he lead the phalanx into the alien trap. That's   
what destroyed him." She grimaced and turned away from Thrawn   
as if she couldn't stand the sight of him. Crossing the room, she   
continued.  
  
"But that's how he was raised, wasn't it?" She grunted in   
disgust. "You Chiss males, you're like another species. What you   
do to yourselves, to each other, to us females: how you force us all   
to try to live up to these impossible standards of perfection, it's   
insanity. Sometimes I think that's the reason the Chiss are in   
decline, why we're so afraid to do anything that might meet with   
disapproval."  
  
"I agree completely." Thrawn said. Raine spun around and   
fixed her crimson gaze on the Grand Admiral.  
  
"That is why I defied the traditions in the first place." He   
continued. "To try and escape the tiny box that society had forced   
me to live in. And to free others as well." He walked over to her.   
"I think we are more alike than you think, Commander."  
  
Raine tilted her head. "How so?"  
  
"We both loved Vraet." Thrawn saw her throat hitch, but   
otherwise she remained calm. "But I could never be a part of his   
life. As you said, my son and I were both too proud. But I still   
want to learn about the person he was."  
  
For a long moment, Raine said nothing, then a small smile   
quirked the side of her mouth. "You're good, Syndic, I've got to   
hand it to you, but it wont work. I'm no friend to you, or your   
Empire, and the instant the Yuuzhan Vong have been nullified our   
paths with part." She drew herself up. "Permission to depart?"  
  
Thrawn nodded, and the phalanx commander turned and   
opened the door. "One thing more, Commander." She regarded   
him with bright, red eyes. "You'd do well to remember, like   
males, a female can be too proud for her own good." He grimaced.   
"I speak from experience: pride is a bitter comfort when that's all  
you have left."  
  
Raine's expression remained a frozen mask as the door slid   
shut.  
  
Thrawn closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his face.  
  
*****************************************************  
Yes, I imagine pride is bitter indeed, but it's not all I   
have. Raine brushed her abdomen absently with her fingertips.   
She had been thinking a great deal lately about Chiss children:   
raised to meet exacting standards of perfection where love and   
acceptance were withheld until they could fulfill those demands.   
Like Vraet, who had killed himself to prove he was the perfect   
Chiss. They'll never do that to you! she thought fiercely.  
  
She strode down the corridor. Vraet, I should have told   
you. But it was too late now. She hadn't told Thrawn either, and   
didn't know if she ever would. Certainly she couldn't say anything   
now: she needed to be in the coming battle. Not because of pride,   
or even to avenge Vraet-the late Syndic would never want her to   
take this kind of risk-but because she knew she was the best   
commander in the phalanx. If they were going to defeat the   
Yuuzhan Vong, she?d have to be there.  
  
Vraet was right when he said a Syndic's life belonged to the   
people he protected, and that was true for the soldiers of the Chiss   
as well, but Thrawn would never let her near combat if he knew   
she carried his grandchild.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be concluded...  
  
Author's note:  
  
You read it right. It's been hard work, and it's been fun, but after   
one more chapter (and a short epilogue), it will be time to draw my   
story to a close in what I hope will be true Star Wars fashion and   
set the (surviving) characters on the paths that will lead them to   
Timothy Zahn's novels and the NJO books. I want to thank   
George Lucas, Zahn, Keyes, Lucino, heck, all the Star Wars   
writers. If I've managed to create something worth reading here,   
it's only because I've stood on the shoulders of giants.  
  
And of course, thanks to everyone who's ever read this   
duology of mine. You've invested some time in reading my story,   
and I hope I've made that time feel worthwhile. Thanks for giving   
me a chance.  
  



	14. chapter fourteen

Chapter Fourteen  
  
"I'm very disappointed in you, Prefect." Sang Anor shook   
his head as he stared at the thick, black clouds that rose against the   
sky and turned noon to dusk. (Though I don't know why,) he   
mused, (this kind of incompetence is about what I've come to   
expect from you.)  
  
"The slaves who fought us aren't going to be a problem   
anymore." Ke'Nas crossed his arms and smiled, his ever-sneering   
face practically glowing with pride as a band of Nesz slowly   
walked by them. "I've scorched half this planet, and tsik vai are   
flying overhead. They fire on anything that moves." And Nom   
Anor hadn't come back yet.  
  
Ke'Nas could barely hold back bubbles of laughter when   
he'd told Sang Anor. The Executor was concerned, but he   
wouldn't believe Nom Anor was dead until he saw the body   
himself. This was Ke'Nas, after all: if he was trying to do you   
harm then you could look forward to a long and happy life. It was   
only time to start worrying when the Prefect was trying to help   
you.  
  
"You've made progress indeed," Sang Anor conceded. "A   
planet full of life that could have been shaped to serve us or used   
as nutrients for the coral field is now all but useless." Another   
group of Nesz trudged past where they stood, on the shores of a   
large lake that lay near the center of the Yuuzhan Vong settlement.   
Underground streams, regulated by Yuuzhan Vong servant-  
creatures, carried water to the growing projects and carried waste   
material away from the coral field.  
  
The Prefect laughed a little. "What does it matter if this   
world lives or dies? You've already given the order to abandon it."   
True enough. Even now transports of yorrik coral were ferrying   
almost every Yuuzhan Vong on the planet and all fully shaped   
creatures up to the worldship while another stream of empty   
transports flew down to the surface to collect more.  
  
Above them, the mottled red-black orb of the (Long   
Reach) hung like a midday moon.  
  
Sang Anor glanced at a passing tsik vai. "I want those   
flyers recalled," he said, "those pilots will be needed in   
corralskippers." Another hundred slaves walked silently past,   
reptilian snouts drooping. "The (Long Reach of Death) and the   
desk hai are easily a match for the infidels' Star Destroyers, but   
their TIE fighters could prove a problem. Thrawn has hoards of   
the things and he knows how to use them." The small, fast fighters   
could harass larger ships and tire their dovin basals, creating weak   
points for the battleships to capitalize on.  
  
"That's why you're having the shapers drop all other   
projects in favor of growing missiles and grutchin." Ke'Nas   
deduced, still wearing his idiotically pleased expression.  
  
Sang Anor nodded. Missiles and grutchin were faster to   
shape than coralskippers and they needed no pilots. Guided by the   
yammosk, they would thin out the numbers of TIE fighters during   
the battle.  
  
"I've all but emptied the worldship. Every warrior will   
have to fly a coralskipper, and the noncombatants, priests, shapers   
and the rest, are being sent out of the system. They've been   
instructed to disperse and hide themselves until the battle is over   
and it's safe to rejoin the (Long Reach.)"  
  
"And you're going to take on the entire infidel fleet?"   
Ke'Nas shook his head. "I've always thought you were mad,   
Executor." He watched the other Yuuzhan Vong carefully.   
"You're fighting Thrawn in the field he excels in: open warfare."  
  
"Oh, I'm having a few tricks prepared for him." Sang   
Anor's eyes gleamed. "This system will be the Grand Admiral's   
last battlefield. We (will) have victory."  
  
"But a costly one." The Prefect pressed. "Many of our   
warriors will perish. How do you expect to conquer the Unknown   
Regions if half or more of our number die right now?"  
  
"The planets of this galaxy team with life, Ke'Nas. Life   
which can be shaped to serve us and fight for us."  
  
"Living weapons and warrior-slaves?" The Prefect   
chuckled. "Mindless tools are nothing without a Yuuzhan Vong to   
direct them."  
  
"Most of the sentients in this galaxy are destined for slavery   
or sacrifice, yes, but there are exceptions." He glanced over his   
shoulder and motioned for the new arrival to approach.  
  
Wearing vonduun shell armor and with an amphistaff   
curled round his arm, Wras looked and carried himself like a   
Yuuzhan Vong warrior. He snapped his fists against his shoulders   
and bowed his head to each of his superiors. "Belek tiu Executor,   
Prefect." Tattoos swirled around his blue face, and his eyes   
glowed with fanatical fire.  
  
"Look at me, Wras." The glowing eyes met the Executor's.   
"Why do you exist?" Sang Anor queried.  
  
"I live for the gods, I kill for the gods, I will die for the   
gods." The shaped Chiss answered.  
  
"So you do. Give tribute to the gods, Wras." Without a   
second's hesitation, the Chiss made a fist and struck his nose,   
breaking it. Blood streamed down his chin and he prepared to hit   
himself once again. "Enough." Sang Anor reached out and   
brushed his claws along Wras' face, as he had done once before.   
The convert didn't flinch, even though the talons were a hair away   
from breaking the blue skin.  
  
Sang Anor slowly circled Wras. "If one of the Imperial   
Chiss were here before us, someone you respected, someone who   
had flown as your wingmate and saved your life countless times,   
and it was necessary to sacrifice this one, what would you do?"  
  
"With my own hands, Executor, I would bind the infidel   
into the Embrace of Pain."  
  
"Look at him, Prefect." Sang Anor completed his circuit.   
"Less than a month with us and already as strong as a Yuuzhan   
Vong and as dedicated to the gods as one born into their service. I   
am so satisfied that he's now one of us I've arranged to have him   
adopted into Domain Rapuung." Wras started, almost   
imperceptibly, and a glow of pride lit in his eyes. "And I'm told   
we have a human who might be suitable for the shaping process."  
  
  
He looked to Wras. "If we only find one like him among a   
thousand slaves, that still yields up hundreds of thousands on every   
inhabited planet we take. Our numbers will be replenished in a   
year," he turned back to Ke'Nas, "and by then there will be a   
functioning shipwomb in this galaxy to grow battleships en masse.   
In five years the Yuuzhan Vong will rule the Unknown Regions,   
the Chiss (and) the Ssi-Ruuk. In five more years I will be   
standing on Coruscant, supervising that world's cleansing." When   
the Supreme Overlord arrived, twenty years hence, Sang Anor   
would greet him with a (billion) sacrifices, and the Overlord   
would name Sang Anor his heir on the spot.  
  
He glanced at Ke'Nas and saw the Prefect was shaken.   
Good. He had sense enough to realize the indirect threat: Sang   
Anor had said 'I,' not 'we.' The Executor would be on Coruscant   
in ten years, but where would Ke'Nas be? Ke'Nas knew that war   
had just been declared.  
  
The Prefect noticed his Executor watching him and looked   
away quickly, not meeting Sang Anor's eyes. He was bold enough   
to yap and nip at his superior's heels, but there would be no direct   
challenge: Ke'Nas knew who the alpha male of this pack was.  
  
Sang Anor's authority was well-established by now, but   
Ke'Nas' acknowledgment wasn't going to save him: the Prefect had   
proved too treacherous, and incompetent besides. True, the   
Executor had found him valuable in helping test his son's mettle,   
but he no longer had any use for the Prefect and what Sang Anor   
couldn't use, he didn't keep.  
  
The Executor experienced a rush of pleasure in the fact that   
he controlled the life, the death, the (fate) of another. Of all the   
things in creation, power was the most addictive.  
  
It had been this way since he was a child and he began to   
understand the concept of power: gaining, keeping and controlling   
of it. Power was in the teacher who decided which of the creche   
children was worthy and which would be sacrificed, the priest who   
divined the future, the shaper who molded life to suit the needs of   
the Yuuzhan Vong, the warrior who dealt out death to enemies of   
the gods, but most of all power lay in being able to command all   
those persons and be obeyed.  
  
For as long as he could remember, the idea of power had   
teased him, enticed him, danced before him seductively,   
suggestively, and yet it was elusive, always remaining just out of   
reach. He worked hard to climb the ranks, yet the reward's he'd   
received failed to satisfy him. The escalations and promotions   
he'd earned were mere tastes, the great feast remained out of reach.  
  
Many Yuuzhan Vong who desired power concentrated on   
what cause they could apply it to. They held the notion of using   
their power to further the cause of the gods and their people. To   
Sang Anor, however, power was its own reward. In many ways   
this was an addiction, and like every addict Sang Anor came to   
need greater doses of his drug. He had to have more, and more,   
and (more!)  
  
Ke'Nas was right: this was a kind of madness.  
  
Yet even knowing this, Sang Anor was not dissuaded. He   
had sacrificed all that he loved for his ambitions: his wife had been   
taken from him and possibly even his son, yet this had only   
strengthened his resolve to see those ambitions fulfilled. After all,   
if he gave up or failed to achieve the goals he'd set for himself,   
well, then he really would have nothing.  
  
"You've thought of everything," Ke'Nas murmured, "so   
how will the battle be waged?" More Nesz trudged past.  
  
"I have a few things in mind." Sang Anor frowned. "A pity   
the fifth battleship being grown in the field will not be ready for   
the battle. Even if it is completed before the Empire arrives, there   
is still no time to train it." He shrugged. "But I believe I have a   
use for it, as well as for the handful of Yuuzhan Vong who will   
remain on this planet." The hundred Nesz did as the hundred dull-  
eyed slaved that had preceded them: they waded into the pool until   
they submerged, floated down to the bottom, then opened their   
jaws and breathed in the water.  
  
When water filled their lungs, the Obeyers within each   
slave took over completely and propelled the corpses on a walk   
along the bottom, then a climb back up the side to shore. The dead   
muscles were still fresh and flexible enough for the Obeyers to use.   
They moved the bodied out of the water and collapsed them a few   
steps away, where a band of Nesz slaves waited.  
  
They did as they had done with those that proceeded this   
group: they peeled back the scaly skin to extract the Obeyers,   
lumpish things that extended long trailers into the reptiles' nerves.   
The slaves were instructed to simply yank the Obeyers out,   
snapping the links like thread. The Obeyers could always grow   
new nerve cells. If the slaves had still been alive at this point, the   
removal of the implants would have killed them: their bodies were   
dependent on them by now.  
  
They set the Obeyers of one slave aside, picked up its body   
and tossed it into a nearby trench where close to a thousand dead   
Nesz were piled.  
  
This seed world had been a fine experiment, but useless   
now that it was compromised. The Yuuzhan Vong didn't have the   
time or resources to transport their slaves up to the worldship, and   
more could easily be taken on their next conquered planet, so Sang   
Anor had decided on simply eliminating them all. When all the   
other slaves were dead, those Nesz who took care of the bodies   
would be the last to enter the pool and die.  
  
A small sacrifice, but anything that might persuade the   
gods to look with favor on him was worth trying.  
  
Ke'Nas smacked his lips and wiped a film of sweat from   
his brow. "I'm parched," he looked around, "where is that slave?"   
He caught sight of an elderly Nesz coming toward them. Too frail   
for exerting itself in the coral fields, the Yuuzhan Vong used it   
those in similar conditions to fetch and carry light objects, like the   
serving platter with two goblets it now bore.  
  
"That took long enough," the Prefect took one of the   
goblets and drank the chilled wine. "I applaud your decision to   
give up on these creatures, Executor. They make the weakest,   
laziest slaves I've ever known, and they're ridiculously stubborn in   
their resistance."  
  
Sang Anor raised a brow as he inspected his own goblet.   
"Resist?" He spoke dryly. "With spears and bows against   
amphistaffs and plasma cannons?"  
  
"The gods-cursed things act like feral grutchin." The   
Prefect said defensively. "They fight by setting traps and   
ambushes, and they know the swamps: they strike quickly and then   
melt into the grass and trees, even the water. The shapers who   
examined their bodies say they can hold their breath for hours, and   
there must be thousands of underground streams connecting these   
swamps."  
  
The Prefect grimaced. "If that weren't bad enough, the   
ignorant things would rather die than be taken captive and shown   
the true path."  
  
"The number of slaves taken alive has been negligible as of   
late." Sang Anor agreed.  
  
"You would think they would show some of that energy   
and determination now that we've shown them their destined place   
in the universe." Ke'Nas shook his head in disgust at the slaves?   
ingratitude as another hundred walked past them to drown   
themselves. "We're well rid of them."  
  
"Will it be difficult to replace them, Executor?" Wras   
asked.  
  
"No, not that I really had a choice either way." The dead   
slaves stumbled out of the water and collapsed on the shore. A   
young slave turned one of the bodies over, dug its sharp claws   
under the skin that covered a growth and began to peel. "We don't   
have time to transport them to the worldship." He frowned at the   
wine and poured it on the ground between his feet, "I prefer to   
remain clearheaded on the eve of battle." He said as he walked to   
the pool, knelt and dipped the empty goblet under the water.  
  
As he stood, he heard shouts of greeting. He, Wras and the   
Prefect turned their eyes to a trio of approaching Yuuzhan Vong.   
One was a sentry who had been posted near the edge of the field,   
to his right was a female, young and quite striking, and to his left-  
  
"Executor," the sentry snapped fists to shoulders and   
bowed, "Belek tiu, these persons approached the edge of the field   
and asked for admittance-"  
  
Sang Anor half-heard him, a sure of pure joy had   
overwhelmed him, so much so that he could barely keep his face   
impassive. All attention was focused on the sight of Nom Anor,   
scorched, scarred, nearly naked, but alive. Ke'Nas had gone red,   
then white. Sang Anor raised his goblet in a silent toast, then   
threw back his head and drained the water.  
  
And the pit of the dead continued to fill.  
  
**********************************************  
It was midday, but when Vergere looked upwards she could   
only see darkness above the layers of water. The fires were still   
burning strong.  
  
"Most of my men are accounted for," Stent was saying, "if   
your Nesz-ghosts can be believed, only three were lost in the fire."  
  
"You can believe them," Vergere said softly, "how many   
injuries?"  
  
"A lot of burns, but the natives are treating them. A few   
are sick from breathing in smoke. One pilot broke his arm, but he   
insists he can still fire a blaster with his good hand." There was   
mingled pride and amusement under the cool, controlled tone.   
"We can fight."  
  
He gazed up at the dome of air that kept the water from   
crushing them. "Funny, I'm almost used to this place. It's not that   
different from the energy shields that keep vaccuum out of a   
fighter bay," he frowned, "the only difference being that I   
understand how an energy shield works." Stent leaned close to the   
Jedi and whispered, "how much longer can (they) keep this   
going?"  
  
Vergere turned to face him. Lit by both his glowing eyes   
and by the many small, glowing orbs of air molecules that drifted   
around the dome, Stent's features were drawn tight. "Two days."   
The Fosh answered. "The Eternals are weakening as this world's   
native life dies, but they can hide us a little longer."  
  
"Then what?" Stent demanded, but kept his voice low so   
the other Imperials wouldn't hear. "There's no cover on the   
surface, not anymore. We'll burn to death or get spotted and vaped   
by Vong fliers if we stray from here!" He snarled, anger entering   
his tone. "You and your lizard friends have led us into a pit of   
spikes!"  
  
"You're alive." Vergere pointed out calmly. "Your men   
have a chance."  
  
"A chance to do what?" Stent clenched his fists. "To wait   
until the air runs out or the water crushes us? And how can you   
just sit here?" He glanced around. "We need a plan!" And by his   
tone, the Chiss plainly expected her to have a course of action   
ready.  
  
Vergere sighed, once again the weight of the world was set   
on her shoulders. Instead of frustration and anger, however, she   
experienced a pleasantly nostalgic feeling. It was as her Master   
had often said: "you'll find the most annoying part of being a Jedi is   
everyone expects you to solve all their problems."  
  
(How right you are, Thracia.) She shook her head. "I   
need to consult the Force for guidance."  
  
"I can't leave my men to rot while you daydream!" Stent   
raised his voice and took a step toward her, but a scaly hand on his   
arm stopped him. He looked down at Oin.  
  
"Leave her alone." The young Nesz spoke in Basic.  
  
"Don't presume to-"  
  
"Will you put on such a shameful display in front of your   
men?" Oin hissed. "What kind of Chiss are you?"  
  
Vergere smiled, Oin had certainly learned how to   
manipulate the Chiss. The flight commander remembered the   
pilots sitting or crouching nearby, watching him with curious   
human eyes and glowing Chiss gazes. Stent pulled himself   
together and allowed Oin to draw him away from Vergere, his   
boots squished on the muddy ground.  
  
The Jedi turned her attention to the other inhabitants of the   
dome. It was a fairly small space, holding a mere dozen Imperials   
and Nesz. Those who had survived were hidden in many such   
domes in the swamps near the Yuuzhan Vong settlement, safe   
from detection by the aliens, but unable to stir for fear of revealing   
themselves.  
  
The humans and Chiss were holding up well, despite the   
close quarters and strange circumstances. Stent had instructed   
them not to move or speak any more than was necessary to keep   
from using up the air too soon. Imperial discipline and the   
knowledge of shared danger held them in a perpetually watchful   
state. Their blasters were near at hand, though they probably   
wouldn't be much use underwater.  
  
There was another reason for staying still: the water wasn't   
held back by any method they could understand, and   
subconsciously there was the fear that any sudden action by them   
could disrupt the delicate forces that kept them dry.  
  
The glowing orbs floated around the dome, providing light   
for the fugitives and illuminating the fluid, mobile sculptures that   
shared the chamber with them. Twisting and turning, swelling and   
thinning, the art of the Eternals entranced them all. The light   
shimmered across their rippling surfaces.  
  
Vergere closed her eyes and slowly floated out of her own   
body. She left a thread of energy connecting her spirit to her   
physical flesh as a lifeline and let the currents of the Force take her   
where she needed to be.  
  
For a time, she experienced the disembodied existence of   
the Eternals. She sensed them as they spent their remaining   
strength to maintain underwater safehouses for the remaining   
Nesz. And she sensed the Nesz as well. The bright lights of   
Eternals wearing flesh and experiencing life for the thousandth   
time and the first time all at once.  
  
There were so few of them left. A little more than five   
hundred natives remained on the entire planet, all of which were   
concentrated in the same general area. It really hit home how few   
Nesz remained, what the Yuuzhan Vong had cost them.  
  
She sensed the Eternals as well. It would be hard not too:   
there were so many of them. She estimated around five thousand   
of them living in the Force and was shocked for a moment by the   
ratio of living to dead. Then she realized it was natural: with so   
many Nesz dying in such a short space of time, with the survivors   
having neither the time nor the inclination to birth infant bodies for   
the Eternals, of course there would be unprecedented numbers of   
Nesz in their disembodied form.  
  
This also explained why the Eternals hadn't created these   
underwater hideaways earlier: there were few of the spirit-Nesz   
then, but after the Yuuzhan Vong had slaughtered them by the   
hundreds there were enough to combine their strength and hide the   
relatively few Nesz who still lived.  
  
"Hello again, Vergere."  
  
The Jedi turned to face the presence that took form in the   
Force. Not that she had a 'face' or a body (to) turn at the moment,   
but it translated into about the same thing.  
  
"Dra." She wasn't sure whether or not to make small talk,   
as diplomacy suggested, or even where to start if she did. 'You're   
looking well,' didn't seem a very appropriate thing to say to a dead   
person.  
  
"The others decided I should be the one to talk with you,   
because I so recently traveled with you and Oin."  
  
"They made a good choice," and the mention of choices   
reminded Vergere of a question she meant to ask. "Dra, tell me,   
why did you choose Oin to succeed you?"  
  
"It wasn't just me," the Eternal shook his head, his features   
shifting, "all the Eternals decided."  
  
"Again, why?"  
  
"For the same reason we chose him to accompany you   
offworld when last you were here and trusted him with our secret,   
for the qualities you've doubtless seen in him during your time   
together. In all his lives, 'Oin' has been the bravest, most   
intelligent, adaptable and loyal of Nesz, and among the Eternals he   
is counted as the wisest."  
  
"I see," Vergere was taken aback for a moment, "thank you,   
I couldn't have asked for a better friend during all this. Now why   
did you call for me?"  
  
"I need to show you something unusual," Dra answered,   
"come with me." The world shifted around them and they stood at   
the edge of a vast nothingness.  
  
That is what it appeared to be, at least: a wide blank space   
that extended for as far as she could perceive: the things she 'saw'   
were all reflections in the Force, so the Yuuzhan Vong stronghold   
would not register.  
  
"I don't see anything different." The Fosh Jedi said.  
  
"Turn your attention upward." Dra advised.  
  
The empty space extended only as high as the tallest   
Yuuzhan Vong building, which the Force outlined. Above that,   
nothing but sky.  
  
And two chains of blank spaces, lifting and descending   
from the nothingness.  
  
"You see?" Dra said. "This has been going on for half the   
day."  
  
Vergere observed the large blanks as they lowered   
themselves to the surface while others took off and slowly flew   
upwards. "About the size of cargo transports." She said. "Sang   
Anor and the worldship must have returned, and the Yuuzhan   
Vong are either moving things down to the surface or up to the   
(Long Reach.)"  
  
"Is there any way to find out which, or why?"  
  
"Not like this." Vergere shook her head. "You would need   
to send another spy in to scout them out, like Oin did."  
  
"It wouldn't work," Dra shook his insubstantial 'head,' "the   
Yuuzhan Vong have been on their guard since we began fighting   
back. Sentries are everywhere."  
  
"Then-" Vergere paused, "what's that?" She saw   
something, a small, fading speck of light near the center of the   
emptiness.  
  
"I can't tell." Dra frowned. "It's too faint."  
  
Vergere reached out over the field nothing to the point of   
light, made contact and drew herself into the luminescence, and   
found herself looking through the eyes of a Nesz.  
  
*********************************************  
She was a slave, one of many hundreds gathered under the   
shadows of coral buildings. Piggybacking on the Nesz's   
subconscious, she opened the slave?s recent memory and saw how   
the boxy Yuuzhan Vong transports were landing to be loaded up   
with villips, dovin basals, razorbugs and everything else that had   
been grown on the coral field, then the transports would close and   
lift off.  
  
(The Yuuzhan Vong are abandoning this planet!) She   
realized. (But why? Unless Thrawn is finally making a move in   
this direction.) Fear rippled through her. Was her vision finally   
coming to pass? A dead planet, nothing left of the Nesz...  
  
(No, I can stop it. I have to!)  
  
Somehow.  
  
She realized suddenly that her host was moving. Along   
with about a hundred others, she left the main group and walked   
slowly to some unknown goal. She tried to make contact with the   
Nesz mind she inhabited, but received no response. The slave's   
will was too beaten down, and in truth there was little she could   
talk with: the slaves were all implanted with Obeyers, and like all   
Yuuzhan Vong servants these control-creatures didn't exist in the   
Force. Worse, as their power spread through the slaves' bodies, the   
victims' natural affinity with the Force was destroyed, thus   
rendering them as blank as Yuuzhan Vong creatures.  
  
With Nesz, though, it was far worse: earlier, Dra had   
explained that Obeyers destroyed the Eternal within a captured   
Nesz, condemning it to true and final death. This one had been a   
recent implant, so she still retained a small part of what went on   
after dying. Soon, however, even that would fade and the slave   
would simply be an organic machine, moving and breathing but   
soulless, governed by no will other than the Obeyers themselves.  
  
This was the reason she couldn't touch any of the other   
Nesz, nor would their free brothers and sisters feel when these   
ones were hurt or killed: they were already dead in every way that   
mattered.  
  
The slave herself wasn't even away of Vergere, but the Jedi   
sensed something within her: a strange, desperate hope, though the   
Fosh didn't know the reason.  
  
The group of one hundred was passing a tall spire of coral   
that cast it's shadow across them when she heard Sang Anor's   
voice.  
  
She tried to turn the slave's head, but the Eternal she was   
connected with just didn't have the strength: it was the Obeyers   
that governed this body, and they had no such orders from their   
Yuuzhan Vong masters.  
  
"-expect a response from Thrawn soon." There was no   
doubt about it: even after three years she remembered his voice   
clearly. If she were in her own flesh she would shudder. "A most   
violent response, so we must hurry. I need everything remotely   
useful transferred to the worldship before the sun sets." There, out   
of the corner of her eye she glimpsed two figures as she passed.  
  
"That will be difficult, but it can be managed." She   
recognized the other voice as well. So Nom Anor had survived the   
fires. "When do you think the attack will come?"  
  
"The moment Thrawn can assemble all his forces. I   
estimate two days at most."  
  
"Are you going to position the worldship near the   
hyperspace entrance points? We could destroy the Imperials as   
they enter the system."  
  
"No, it wouldn't work. Thrawn will send in a few advance   
scouts to look for a trap before jumping his fleet in. I mean to   
destroy him and all his strength, not just a few ships. The   
preparations for the battle are nearly complete."  
  
"So the fight will be on our chosen battleground." Nom   
Anor said. Vergere strained her hearing as the slow-moving slaves   
shuffled past. "Where will it be?"  
  
"The skies above our seed world."  
  
"So you'll defend this planet?"  
  
"On the contrary, I plan to let the infidels approach without   
a fight. Then the worldship will engage them."  
  
"There will be many capital ships, will the worldship and   
desk hai together be enough to destroy them all?"  
  
"With the help of my two surprises, they will." Sang Anor   
was pacing now, as he usually did when expounding on some   
grand idea. He walked into her field of vision and she saw him   
clearly.  
  
Three years hadn't changed him much, but the stress of   
leadership had aged him somewhat: there were a few more lines   
around his eyes, strands of silver in his black hair, but he still   
moved with the strength and deadly grace of a Yuuzhan Vong. He   
turned and those cold, terrible eyes found her slave. For a moment   
she feared he would see past the Nesz and truly perceive her, but   
the icy gaze passed over her as he spun to face his son.  
  
"One surprise waits above us, the other is right here." He   
pointed to the source of the tall shadow: the coral spire that   
dominated the Yuuzhan Vong settlement. "The focusing tower.   
As it reached out to crush the first strike force that attacked the   
seed world, so it will be with the Imperial fleet. In the midst of   
battle Thrawn's Star Destroyers will begin collapsing around him   
for no reason he can comprehend. His commanders will panic and   
the fight will be ours."  
  
She would hear more, but the party of Nesz had moved   
beyond hearing range. Now the hope beating in the slave's breast   
flared up and she bent what remained of her will on hurrying her   
pace. Wherever she was commanded to go, this slave wanted   
desperately to be there. Since the slave was hastening to obey her   
instructions, the Obeyers permitted her to increase the pace of her   
footsteps. While the other slaves went to their destination with   
neither eagerness nor reluctance, this slave was all but rushing to   
meet her fate.  
  
(But why...) then Vergere saw. And understood.  
  
She saw the ranks of Nesz vanishing into the water, saw the   
pit of the dead. How many lay there? Two thousand? Three?  
  
Of course, Sang Anor was abandoning his seed world so he   
no longer had a use for the native slaves. He was killing them all.  
  
And this slave wanted to die.  
  
Of course she did: she still had part of an Eternal in her. If   
she died before that energy faded, she would be released into the   
Force to join the other Eternals.  
  
Then the Nesz was stepping into the water, up to her knees,   
her neck, then it covered her face. She hurried to the bottom,   
where her dissipating mind knew underground streams refreshed   
the pond.  
  
Vergere felt raw terror then. She had been here too long!   
She tried to pull away from the slave's mind, but before she could,   
the Nesz inhaled water.  
  
Her lungs, (Vergere's) lungs, flooded. Her chest was   
exploding with the pressure, reflexively, the slave's body tried to   
expel the water, but there was just too much. She, (they,)  
couldn't breathe! Couldn't breathe!  
  
Under the bubble-dome, Nesz gathered around Vergere's   
writhing form.  
  
Even as the reptilian body began to float up to the surface,   
she finally succeeded in pulling away from the dying Nesz. She   
floated away, beyond the blankness and into the Force, then-  
  
"Free!" A thought-voice full of joy followed her. She   
turned and saw the spirit-shape of the Eternal, once a slave, flew   
into the Force. Weakened from her time with the Yuuzhan Vong,   
she gathered life energy to replenish herself as she spun and   
danced through the currents. "I'm free!" she vanished, to join the   
other Eternals.  
  
Vergere followed her own lifeline, and opened her eyes to   
see Oin and Stent standing over her. She spoke.  
  
"I know what to do."  
  
*************************************************  
"Attack?" Stent sputtered. "We'd be slaughtered!"  
  
"It doesn't seem a wise move." Oin pronounced with more   
calm.  
  
"The Yuuzhan Vong are abandoning this planet," Vergere   
pressed, "and a great battle will soon take place overhead between   
the Imperials and the Yuuzhan Vong. It is important that Thrawn's   
forces win that battle." She turned to Stent. "If the extragalactics   
aren't stopped here, they will eventually conquer the Unknown   
Regions, then possibly even the rest of the galaxy.  
  
She looked to Oin. "And believe me, if Sang Anor is   
victorious he will not simply take his forces and leave. He will   
want to completely eradicate his presence on your world, and if   
that means destroying all life that exists here, he will do so." She   
folded her hands. "This is your chance to expel the invaders from   
this planet for good."  
  
"A convincing argument." Oin allowed.  
  
"How many Nesz will join in the fight?" She asked.  
  
Oin bowed his head. For a long moment he said nothing.  
  
"Oin," she repeated, "I realize there are few Nesz you can   
spare, but-"  
  
The Nesz raised his head. "All of them."  
  
Vergere blinked. "What?"  
  
"All of them. Every Nesz on the planet will join you." He   
faced Vergere, and the Jedi flinched away from what she sensed   
from him.  
  
"But the elderly, the children-"  
  
"There aren't any left." Oin didn't look away. "The sick,   
the weak, the injured, the ones who couldn't run fast enough or   
fight hard enough died a long time ago." And nothing was left but   
the durasteel-hard core of the Nesz race. "What is your plan?"  
  
"We wait for the right moment, when the battle is joined   
high above, then we strike. There is a focusing tower, a spire of   
coral, near the center of the alien stronghold, Sang Anor plans to   
draw the Imperial into battle near this world to bring them within   
the tower's reach, where it will inflict heavy losses on Unity Fleet.   
We can turn this trap against him, however."  
  
"But we have less than a hundred blasters," Stent pointed   
out, "all pistols and many that are underpowered. We can't take on   
hundreds of Yuuzhan Vong like this."  
  
"The base will be all but deserted during the fight."   
Vergere countered. "Sang Anor will need every able-bodied   
warrior to fly a coralskipper."  
  
"What of the natural defenses?" Oin said. "The Yuuzhan   
Vong have established restraining fields around the perimeter with   
their dovin basals, and there are many hidden traps, living traps,   
that neither you nor we can sense."  
  
"I've thought of a way to bypass all that." Vergere stroked   
her feathers in thought. "And once we're past the defenses, the   
tower should be easily taken."  
  
"So that?s your plan." Stent nodded. "We take this weapon   
away from them."  
  
"No." Vergere shook her head. "That is merely the first   
part. Afterwards it really gets difficult..." She shook her head.   
"But there's no point to counting your fledglings before your eggs   
hatch. Now, we go over the first stage in detail." She looked   
sharply at Stent. "And if we get through this alive, remember the   
Nesz to Thrawn. I want him to know their part in his victory."  
  
"I give you my word." Stent said, then they began to go   
over the Jedi's strategy. Some parts of the plan sounded like the   
purest insanity, and the Jedi had to summon an Eternal to assure   
Stent that, yes, these things could indeed be done. The drifting,   
insubstantial phantom who floated among the twisting water-  
sculptures seemed to erase all doubts.  
  
But the Eternals were meanwhile communicating certain   
other plans directly into Oin's mind, without the Jedi being aware   
of the fact.  
  
"May the Force be with us." Oin whispered.  
  
*******************************************************  
"A good plan," Nom Anor was nodding, "you've thought of   
almost everything."  
  
"'Almost?'" Sang Anor raised a brow.  
  
"The Jedi." Nom Anor hissed. "She is still out there."  
  
"Prefect Ke'Nas assured me she could not have survived   
the (Night of Fire's) bombardment." Sang Anor mused. For once   
he was inclined to agree with him: he'd seen the scorched   
wastelands surrounding the settlement. Even Jedi were still flesh   
and blood.  
  
"I survived." His son pointed out.  
  
"You had a place to go." Sang Anor said. "Right here.   
The Jedi has no shelter: there is nothing for hundred of miles but   
rivers, ponds and lakes. Where could she hide?"  
  
"That, I don't know." Nom Anor's eyes gleamed. "But she   
has done the impossible before. She has shown up when and   
where she was not wanted before. She has ruined our plans   
before." He slowly circled his father. "What if she interferes? We   
both know the damage she can do." He was walking behind the   
Executor now.  
  
"And your suggestion?" Sang Anor spoke lightly.  
  
"Let me remain here." Nom Anor stood at his father's left   
shoulder now, his voice low and intense. "You sent me here for   
her, I have hunted her with little success, but now I will make the   
Jedi come to me. When she strikes, I will be waiting." He leaned   
close to whisper in Sang Anor's ear. "I can still get her for you,   
Father."  
  
The Executor slowly turned his head and met his son's   
gaze. His eyes were so like his mother's when she'd found a   
project that excited her. "So be it."  
  
Nom Anor snapped his fists against his shoulders. "I won't   
fail you again."  
  
"What will you need?"  
  
"A few Yuuzhan Vong, little more than a garrison force,   
some of our creature-servants," he paused a moment, "and   
subaltern Ceis Grasm."  
  
Sang Anor smiled a little. "You mean the female you   
returned with."  
  
"She has been a great help." Nom Anor said quickly.  
  
"But Domain Grasm and Domain Nas have long been   
allies." Sang Anor said playfully. "This was why she was left here   
when I took the worldship out of this system the first time." He   
glanced back to the focus tower, where Ke'Nas and Ceis Grasm   
were having a conversation of their own. Well, not exactly a   
conversation: the Prefect was firing angry questions at her in a low   
voice. He tried to remain outwardly calm, but Sang Anor could   
tell he was enraged. Could barely stop himself from shouting and   
jumping up and down in fact. Then, the subaltern abruptly spun   
and began striding away, leaving the Prefect with his mouth   
hanging open.  
  
"That is hardly her fault." Nom Anor was saying. "And I   
believe she has come to recognize the...ah...virtues, of Domain   
Anor." He colored a little.  
  
"Ahh," Sang Anor nodded his head slowly. "By the way,   
when you arrived, before fresh clothing was found for you, I   
noticed that you have a few fresh scars."  
  
"The slaves are very fierce, father." Nom Anor bowed his   
head.  
  
"I'm certain they are," Sang Anor kept a straight face,   
barely, "but those did not look like battle scars to me. They   
seemed instead the sort of markings one acquires in...other   
pursuits."  
  
"I...ah," Nom Anor stammered.  
  
"Enough." Sang Anor chuckled and clapped a hand on his   
son's shoulder. He glanced at Ceis Grasm's retreating figure, then   
back at Nom Anor. "Go on. I was young once, though it may be   
hard for you to believe. I understand these things." He jerked his   
head in the subaltern's direction.  
  
"Yes Executor, thank you Executor," he stepped away,   
bobbing his head quickly, then he was running after her.  
  
Sang Anor shook his head and chuckled as he walked   
toward the focusing tower.  
  
********************************************  
Looking out the transparasteel viewport in the conference   
room, Captain Voss Parck saw all the might of the Empire   
assembled.  
  
Not literally, of course, but the majority of Unity Fleet had   
gathered here. A hundred Star Destroyers, almost twice that   
number of smaller battleships and strike cruisers, and wings of TIE   
fighter swarming among them. He even saw the (Admonitor,)   
whole and ready for revenge.  
  
Even knowing what the enemy they would soon face was   
capable of, he still felt an almost electric thrill of energy (zap)   
through his veins on seeing the power Thrawn commanded openly   
displayed.  
  
Reluctantly, he turned from the view. Nine holographic   
representations of the commanders were gathered around the   
table. Thrawn stood on the central holopad, with Raine and Beyin   
near at hand. Parck took his place at their side.  
  
  
"Gentlemen," the Grand Admiral began, "in one day we   
make our initial jump into the Sevac system. I trust by now you   
have all reviewed the pertinent information regarding the enemy   
and have passed the tactics we've devised to your crews and fighter   
pilots."  
  
"We're drilling them, sir." A Chiss captain said. Like the   
rest of the alien Imperials, there was a grim cast to his features.   
Parck had seen them walking the corridors of the (Imperator,)   
silent, eyes staring straight ahead, as if fixed on some goal only   
they could see. They no longer held the familiar, haughty air about   
them that Parck had come to associate with Chiss. Now they   
exhaled a quiet menace that warned one not to get too close to   
them. The human crewers avoided the aliens as they would a pack   
of Noghri under a blood-oath.  
  
"The target system." Thrawn activated a console set into   
the head of the table. As usual, the Grand Admiral was calm and   
collected, the voice of reason and the strong, guiding hand, even   
though Parck knew he was as furious as any of his Chiss followers.  
  
A three-dimensional holographic map of the Sevac system   
appeared floating over the table complete with planetary bodies,   
the asteroid belt and hyperspace entry points.  
  
"This map is in broad strokes," Thrawn went on, "there has   
never been a detailed survey of the Sevac system, but the general   
reports are accurate. From them, I was able to piece this chart   
together. We are dealing with a system of eleven planets, all   
undeveloped, at least by means we are familiar with." He added.   
"Only one of these worlds, and two moons, are habitable, but we   
will need to check all of them. The Yuuzhan Vong have held that   
system for a long time.  
  
"The fleet will enter here, after the initial scouting." A   
pinpoint of red appeared on the rim of the star system, marking the   
position of the entire fleet. Parck set his mouth in a grim line:   
even with three hundred ships, this was still a lot of space to cover.  
  
"The primary objective is the Yuuzhan Vong worldship, a   
vessel comparable to the Death Star in scale. I expect we will   
have no trouble locating it: the enemy challenged me himself. He   
desires a decisive battle and thinks to destroy our ships, but we can   
use this to our advantage. Sang Anor has been forced to bait his   
trap with himself and his worldship, giving us our best opportunity   
to end the Yuuzhan Vong threat.  
  
"The fleet will be divided into ten attack groups, each one   
composed of ten Star Destroyers and twice that number of smaller   
vessels. This will provide flexibility for the fleet, but overall   
coordination is an important factor as well. The (Imperator) will   
lead the primary group, where I will issue directions to you."  
  
Parck and the other nine commanders listened carefully.  
  
"Once we jump insystem we will locate the worldship, but   
we must approach and engage with caution. We will need to make   
certain no enemies will be waiting to flank us from behind." He   
deactivated the hologram turned his eyes to the three Chiss   
commanders.  
  
"One final point for your Chiss crewers." And now the   
calm, businesslike voice became something else, something that   
froze Parck's blood. "Remember what Sang Anor has done to   
Homeworld. Hold that rage in your heart and draw strength from   
it, but that hate must serve you, not the other way around. The   
Yuuzhan Vong (will) be victorious if you or any of the Chiss   
crewers under your command allow rage to cloud your judgement.   
You are still Chiss, and will comport yourselves as such."  
  
The commanders saluted and their holograms dissolved.   
Thrawn turned to face Raine. "I suspect you wish to know how my   
phalanx will be deployed."  
  
"Correct, Syndic." The commander shifted her glowing   
eyes to Thrawn. Her tone, like the Admiral's, was one of calm and   
level.  
  
"I believe attempting to mix Chiss and Imperial ships at   
this early point would not be a wise move. The phalanx will act as   
its own strike group, independent from Unity Fleet and under your   
command. However, I am assigning General Beyin to the   
(Sentinel) in an advisory position."  
  
The commander narrowed her eyes slightly. For a moment,   
Parck thought she would object, and object strongly. He had   
reckoned, however, without the discipline drilled into the Chiss   
military, which dictated that a phalanx commander would   
(always) defer to a Syndic, at least in public.  
  
"Yes, Syndic, but I very much doubt that an...advisor...is   
necessary."  
  
"Nevertheless, the General will accompany you back to the   
(Sentinel.) You and my phalanx are both highly capable, but you   
are quite unused to large-scale battles and offensive combat. I   
understand you have been running several simulations which deal   
with this sort of war for some time now, and have been training the   
phalanx in those simulations," Parck saw her start a little on   
hearing that, "but Beyin has hard-earned experienced in fighting   
outside of Chiss space." He glanced at the General, "he will defer   
to your decisions, but you will heed his advice. Is this   
understood?" His tone clearly marked this as a deal-breaker: she   
would agree or the phalanx would have no part in the assault, no   
chance for revenge for Homeworld.  
  
"I understand, lord." She cut her eyes to Beyin. "General, a   
berth will await you on the (Sentinel.)" The elder Chiss merely   
nodded. "I have one other matter to discuss with you, Syndic.   
Since it has been announced that you now have a phalanx again, I   
have been flooded with requests for enlistment from every   
Imperial Chiss in Unity Fleet."  
  
"Understandable, Commander." Thrawn paced slowly   
around the table. "These men have abandoned their homes and   
Houses to serve with the Empire. It is only natural they would   
welcome an opportunity to become part of a legitimate House once   
more."  
  
"(Your) House." Only the slightest of inflections on the   
first word.  
  
"What other House do they have?" Thrawn merely   
shrugged. "It will give them a chance to reclaim their identities as   
Chiss."  
  
"Lord, a number of," she stopped herself from saying   
'savages,' "humans wish to join the phalanx as well."  
  
"Really." The Grand Admiral remarked in an offhand   
manner. "An interesting turn of events. I must look closer into   
this when I have time. Thank you very much, Commander. You   
are dismissed."  
  
Parck had thought the female Chiss was angered before,   
but by the flash of her glowing eyes it was nothing to the fury she   
felt now. "Yes, Syndic." She turned on her heel and strode out the   
door. The captain didn't know exactly what had happened just   
now, but he sensed important matters swimming just under the   
placid surface of that conversation.  
  
"There are things I must see to as well, Admiral." Parck   
ventured.  
  
"Of course, Captain. Dismissed."  
  
Parck gladly took his leave. He had no desire to become   
involved in Chiss politics: he had enough problems organizing the   
(Imperator) and the other ships that made up his strike force.  
  
Of course, Thrawn not only had his own problems to deal   
with, but those of the entire fleet as well. The captain's own   
troubles were minuscule by comparison, so he resolved to handle   
them as effectively as possible and look for more problems to   
correct besides.  
  
Thrawn's ability to inspire this kind of devotion in his   
underlings was one of his greatest weapons.  
  
***************************************************  
"Syndic, I believe you're making a mistake." Was the first   
thing out of Beyin's mouth after Parck had left the General and   
Admiral alone.  
  
"Concerning what, Beyin?" Thrawn completed his circuit   
round the table and pulled out a chair, but did not sit down.  
  
"In leaving that female in command of your phalanx." Now   
that they were alone, custom allowed some show of emotion, so   
the General put force behind his words.  
  
"You have a problem with Commander Raine?" Thrawn   
drummed his fingers against the back of the chair.  
  
"Not a personal problem, sir, but it is scientific fact that   
females are incapable of quick, logical thinking during times of   
great stress, exactly when a commander most needs his wits about   
him."  
  
Thrawn turned a sharp glance on Beyin. "General that is   
not 'science,' but the fruits of superstition and ignorance."  
  
"Revisionist nonsense." The General responded. "The   
female body is at the mercy of glands, hormones and chemical   
imbalances that render them mentally and physically unfit for   
military service."  
  
"Ah," Thrawn sat down and regarded Beyin, "tell me,   
General, does your wife share these views?" He asked casually.   
"Perhaps I should bring them up when next she and I meet, if the   
Families will that we win today, of course."  
  
Beyin's eyes widened, and though Chiss couldn't turn pale,   
the shade of his skin (did) turn rather sickly. "Well, eh, my Mejas   
is merely the exception that proves the rule." He said quickly.   
"But I still would never place a female in a command position,   
especially one in the throws of grief."  
  
Thrawn stiffened, ever so slightly. "Grief, General? What   
do you mean by 'grief?'"  
  
"I recognize the look, sir. I've seen it many times in   
the past, every time I delivered my condolences to the widow of a   
soldier who died in combat. Mark me, Commander Raine lost   
someone during the attack on Homeworld, and she will be blinded   
by emotion when we battle the Yuuzhan Vong."  
  
Thrawn decided then and there not to mention Raine's   
relationship with Vraet. Beyin would only call her ability into   
question, and Thrawn's judgement.  
  
"General, I said before that Raine had been preparing the   
phalanx, when it had been Vraet's phalanx," his hand trembled   
slightly on the armrest, but he stilled in a moment, "for warfare on   
a grand scale. Do you know why?"  
  
"No sir, I do not."  
  
"She was preparing to fight Unity Fleet, Beyin. To fight   
(us,) and she was convincing Vraet to press the rest of the Syndics   
into war before I became too powerful to overcome."  
  
The general's red eyes flashed. He strode to stand before   
Thrawn. "Sir what you've told me is grounds to have her removed   
here and now: this throws doubt over her loyalty!"  
  
"You don't see the whole picture, Beyin." Thrawn shook   
his head. "Look at these qualities: she is capable, brave, intelligent   
and able to take both a broad and detailed view of events. And   
yes, she is loyal. She is loyal to the Chiss, as we all are. She saw a   
threat to the Chiss and immediately began working on a way to   
counter it. This is an extraordinary officer we have, General, and a   
valuable addition to our forces."  
  
"But...she doesn't intend to remain in your service once the   
battle is over."  
  
"She will, Beyin." Thrawn replied. "I'm seeing to it."  
  
"How?"  
  
"The phalanx, General, will not be easy for her to leave.   
She has made herself a place there, an identity. For years she has   
worked to earn the trust and respect of those under her command,   
and she has trained them to meet her own high standards. She   
(made) that phalanx what it is today, and now she sees what she   
has made threatened. You saw her reaction when we spoke of new   
enlistments: the recruits from Unity Fleet will outnumber the   
phalanx troops four to one.  
  
"The outfit will be flooded with Chiss who have turned   
their backs on their own Houses, Chiss with Imperial training, who   
will remake the phalanx into an extension of Unity Fleet and   
nothing more. And if that will pollute the phalanx, imagine what   
humans joining would do. Will Raine allow it? Never." He stood   
and paced, continuing in a calm yet implacable, ruthless voice.   
"My home guard will bind her to us like a durasteel chain. The   
Empire will benefit greatly."  
  
And more importantly, Thrawn would not lose his last link   
to his son.  
  
"I still think you're mistaken." Beyin warned. "Only a fool   
thinks he can accurately predict how a female will behave: they   
themselves do not know what they will do from one moment to the   
nest. I'm still going to keep a close watch on her."  
  
"I wouldn't expect anything less of you."  
  
Beyin looked satisfied for a moment and nodded, but as he   
turned to go a troubled expression crossed his features. He looked   
back at Thrawn.  
  
"You're humoring me, aren't you?" He said. "You   
predicted Raine's reaction. So you must have predicted mine as   
well. You foresaw this conversation and had a counter ready for   
every argument I made." He frowned. "Then, as a, what, a   
consolation prize?-you place me on her ship to show that my   
services are still valued."  
  
"Yes." Thrawn crossed his arms. "And to give you an   
opportunity to judge the commander's ability for yourself."  
  
"Even after all that's happened, you're still manipulating all   
of us like a child playing with his toys. Don't you ever stop?"  
  
The Admiral frowned. "Not like a child and toys, Beyin.   
Never like that."  
  
"A craftsman using his tools then. Is that more   
appropriate?" Even in this informal setting, Beyin didn't allow   
anger to color his tone. They were Chiss, after all.  
  
"No, still a bad analogy. A tool cannot think, General. A   
tool cannot be left on its own to complete a task, or be trusted with   
responsibilities. A tool cannot work toward the craftsman's goal   
with the same dedication as the craftsman himself." He shook his   
head. "I value everyone who serves under me, but yes: I do   
manipulate them. I do so to bring out their best performance, and   
in answer to your question, no: I don't ever stop. I can't stop, not   
to rest, not to grieve, not to celebrate a victory, because there is   
always one more challenge just over the horizon. One more enemy   
to prepare for." Thrawn's mouth twitched, but he didn't look away.  
  
"I have always considered you a friend, Beyin, and for what   
it's worth I do regret having to manipulate you, but in all   
likelihood I will continue to do so in the future. If this means I   
forfeit that friendship, then so be it. I have already sacrificed more   
than that in doing what I believe is right."  
  
  
For a moment Beyin said nothing, then he sighed and shook   
his head. "I understand. Families know I should: I'm a general   
myself. I guess it was just difficult for me to face how far you've   
come: I remember when you were just a young lordling sent to   
learn from me. I remember (disciplining) you. Yes, every teacher   
rejoices when his student surpasses him, but even then..." He   
trailed off. "You're a giant, Thrawn, you're the kind of man who   
(makes) history. Often, such giants tend to crush lesser folk   
without even realizing it."  
  
Thrawn thought over what the general had said. "I do what   
I must," was the only answer he had. 


	15. chapter fifteen

Chapter Fourteen  
  
"If you will not fight, then you will meet your destiny."  
  
"(-sister...)"  
  
"I will not fight you."  
  
"So, you have a twin sister."  
  
"Once you start down the dark path, forever will it   
dominate your destiny."  
  
"If you will not turn to the dark side, then perhaps she will."  
  
"Never!" A cry of rage.  
  
"And now, young Skywalker, you will die."  
  
Vergere was bombarded with sounds and images as she   
quested through the Force. Lightsabers, green and red, flashing as   
they crossed. A city suspended in a sea of clouds. A battle in a   
raging snowstorm, Imperial walkers moving forward, inexorable as   
an avalanche. They shrugged off the storm of turboblaster bolts   
raining on them.  
  
Something the size of a moon, but made by human hands,   
hung menacingly over a lush jungle world. This place was   
important, she divined: the future of the galaxy would be decided   
there. Only three fourths complete, but already vast beyond   
comprehension. She somehow knew this was a monster that   
would slaughter billions if ever let loose on the galaxy, and within   
it was something far worse. A presence, so dark and cold it would   
swallow everything it touched, light, warmth, freedom and life,   
and only be hungrier for more. Once, this being had hidden its true   
nature from the Force, but now there was no need to hide. Now   
that the time for subterfuge had passed it reveled in its might,   
allowing its darkness to spill into the Force, to pollute the ocean of   
life.  
  
The Jedi had little time to ponder her visions, as that   
terrible intelligence had sensed her feather-light touch and turned   
its eyes (cold, yellow eyes they would be, set in a decaying white   
face) in (her) direction.  
  
Like a startled bird, Vergere took flight as the power she'd   
disturbed sent searching claws of shadow after her. She navigated   
through the currents of the Force until she was sure the pursuer had   
lost her trail in the shifts and tides of energy. In truth, she sensed it   
hadn't tried very hard to trap the insect that had buzzed about its   
head. The Sith (that was the only thing the presence could be,   
everything about it had arrogantly 'Sith') had   
matters of much greater import to consider.  
  
For that matter, so did Vergere. What would happen in that   
mechanical moon, for good or ill, was far beyond her ability to   
affect. She would do what she could, help where she could, but no   
Jedi could carry the weight of the universe on her shoulders. That   
was not her fight. She returned the Sevac system, where she had   
been keeping watch until those strange visions had drawn here   
away. She sensed something new.  
  
Many beings, many ships, and a great hatred kept tightly   
controlled and focused on the blank spaces that were Yuuzhan   
Vong. She glimpsed the image of a planet, once a lovely blue-  
green, now the color of a fresh bruise. Red eyes burning in stony   
blue faces. Excitement and fear fluttered in her breast.  
  
(This) was her fight.  
  
*****************************************************  
Vergere opened her eyes and looked to Stent.  
  
"The Empire is here. Thrawn's fleet has jumped in-  
system."  
  
The Chiss leapt to his feet, his training kept him from   
breaking out in a grin and rubbing his hands together, but Vergere   
sensed his elation. "Finally," his eyes flared in the dim light and   
the red was reflected off the water sculptures around him.  
  
The other pilots were looking at him, Stent noticed them   
and raised his voice. "The Grand Admiral has come!" He declared   
as if the battle were already fought and won. The Imperials,   
human and Chiss alike, cheered and shook their fists. One young   
fellow went so far as to pull out his blaster and fire a shot into the   
ceiling. The bolt fizzled out as it touched the water, but a dead   
silence fell over the Imperials. All eyes turned to the pilot, who   
quickly reholstered his pistol.  
  
  
Then - "You trying to kill us all?" A pilot shouted angrily.   
He took a step forward, fist raised, but Stent called them all to   
attention with a sharp command. His red eyes settled on the   
offending pilot, promising, when there was time, a stern   
punishment both for disturbing the barrier that kept them from   
drowning and for wasting a shot that could have been used to kill a   
Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
The Nesz sat silently throughout the entire fiasco.  
  
Stent spun back to the Fosh. "Well Jedi, do we attack   
now?"  
  
Oin stood beside him. "We're ready." He said.  
  
"Not yet." Vergere shook her head. "We wait until the   
battle is joined, when there will be a better chance the Yuuzhan   
Vong wont notice what we?re doing until it's too late."  
  
She felt a stirring in the Force just before Dra's spirit-form   
materialized beside her, visible to all. Stent started and swallowed   
nervously, hand instinctively straying to a blaster he knew would   
do no good at all if this apparition decided to become an enemy.  
  
"We will be ready when time comes." The Eternal   
promised in a 'voice' the assembled crowd heard only in their   
heads. "The Yuuzhan Vong will regret ever setting their feet on   
our world."  
  
************************************************  
On the bridge of the (Imperator,) Captain Parck watched   
the Star Destroyers fan out from the viewports and in the computer   
representations. TIE fighters darted around the wedge-shaped   
ships like gnats flitting around a herd of bantha. Slowly, the fleet   
breasted the vacuum.  
  
"Keep the fleet together." Thrawn cautioned. Hyperdrive-  
equipped TIE Advanced fighters had already jumped in and   
scouted the outer system for obvious traps, now swarms of TIE   
Interceptors ranged wide, scouting for possible threats that might   
lurk just beyond the capital ships? sensor range or in the shadow of   
nearby planets. "We can concentrate our strength and still cover a   
lot of space by staying in formation."  
  
"Request permission to send a scouting wing to Sevac III."   
A group commander asked, his voice slightly muffled by the   
comm.  
  
"Granted, but remind your pilots not to engage the enemy.   
If they encounter opposition, withdraw." Thrawn fixed his eyes of   
the viewports. "We're in no hurry."  
  
***********************************************  
Beyin watched the sensor readouts from the scouting TIE   
fighters. Nothing suspicious so far...but the old soldier felt the   
hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight. Beside him, Raine   
observed the crew and readings with a calm, collected air. Beyin   
had to admit, this phalanx wasn't soft and undisciplined as he had   
expected, being commanded by a female and all.  
  
Another thing: although he had come to appreciate the   
worth of the Imperial humans, he felt more comfortable back in a   
Chiss ship. The sounds of the instruments, the smell of the air and   
feel of gravity attuned to Chiss physiology rather than human   
standard all combined make him feel secure on an unconscious   
level.  
  
And of course, instead of having his ears jarred by Basic he   
was surrounded by the flowing, beautiful language of his own   
people. Despite being in enemy territory, on a mission of   
vengeance for desecrated Homeworld, Beyin breathed a soft sigh.   
He felt as though he had come home.  
  
"Transmition from the (Imperator,) Commander." A   
comm officer called Raine and the general to his station and   
Thrawn's image appeared on his viewscreen.  
  
"Syndic." Raine saluted and spoke Basic, as Thrawn had   
decreed all between-ship communications had to be.  
  
"Commander," he said, "move the phalanx to the rear of the   
fleet and drop back about five klicks."  
  
Raine blinked. "Syndic, the phalanx is prepared to-"  
  
"You have your orders, Commander." Thrawn's calm tone   
brooked no objection.  
  
"Immediately, Syndic." Raine bowed her head, more to   
hide the rage that flashed from her eyes than out of respect, Beyin   
suspected.  
  
The Chiss vessels fell back, and the Imperial ship fanned   
out ahead. Beyin could feel the displeasure of the bridge crew,   
though they were of course too disciplined to show it. Beyin   
himself was unhappy at the impropriety: the Imperials would be   
the first to engage the enemy while the phalanx trailed behind.  
  
He edged closer to Raine. "The Admiral's decisions are   
always well-thought-out." He said softly. "There is a good reason   
behind his order."  
  
Raine turned a composed face to the general. Any emotion   
she might be feeling, she didn't show. "I'm not a child who needs   
reassurances to accompany every order I'm given, nor is this   
phalanx. It?s enough that my Syndic has issued his command."   
She replied just as quietly. "If he favors those discolored, dead-  
eyed pets over his own phalanx, so be it." She shrugged. "At least   
there are some Chiss on those Star Destroyers. We will need   
soldiers we can rely on."  
  
Beyin winced a little at those sentiments, which he himself   
had shared not too long ago.  
  
"Don't discount the humans, Commander." He said.   
"There are many in the Empire as loyal and worthy as any Chiss."  
  
Raine scoffed a little. "I very much doubt it."  
  
Beyin frowned. Such a close-minded attitude. But really,   
what could you expect from a female?  
  
***************************************************  
Krelt bowed his ancient head as his acolytes ordered the   
last dozen captives, their movements arrested by Obeyers, to move   
to the edge of the maw luur.  
  
"Yun Yammka," the voice of the priest carried to the top of   
the vaulted coral ceiling, "we offer up to you this tribute on the eve   
of battle. We pray you enter the hearts of your warriors this day   
and drive them to greater feats, for the glory of your name." He   
raised his head and turned his yellow olc-its to the captives, a   
mixed group of aliens captured over the years and held in the   
worldship's belly for interrogation and experimentation by the   
shapers.  
  
Krelt gestured and the first prisoner, a Ryn, stepped off the   
edge. It fell a few seconds before a splash was heard, then   
shrieking as the acid began to dissolve it.  
  
Krelt waited for the screams to stop before ordering the   
next slave to walk into the pit. This was a fast and efficient way of   
sacrificing captives: not only would the pain of being dissolved in   
the maw luur's acid pool go to strengthen Yun Yammka, but the   
fear of the other slaves who awaited their turn would feed the great   
god as well. As an added bonus, the maw luur would reduce the   
slaves into valuable nutrients for the (Long Reach), so their   
deaths would serve the Yuuzhan Vong in yet another way. Krelt   
was justly proud of having thought of this.  
  
This was the last of the sentient captives kept onboard the   
(Long Reach of Death). All that remained were a few animals   
taken from various native worlds for the purpose of   
experimentation, but a nonsentient's pain and fear would mean   
very little to the gods, and there wasn?t time to evacuate them from   
the worldship with the rest of the nonessential Yuuzhan Vong, so   
the beasts were left in their cages to await whatever fate the gods   
had for them.  
  
Krelt turned away as the final slave died. His three   
acolytes fell in behind him as he returned to Yun Yammka's   
shipboard temple.  
  
The other full priests of Yun Yammka had left the   
worldship at the Executor's orders, along with the shapers and the   
priests of other deities. Hidden, they waited in other star systems   
for news of the battle's end. It was necessary, however, for at least   
one of the Slayer's priests to remain during a battle. A priestess of   
Yun Harla also remained in the Trickster's temple, to help bring   
success to Sang Anor's stratagems, and a handful of shapers to   
repair any damage done to the worldship. By and large, though,   
the worldship seemed deserted with all of the remaining Yuuzhan   
Vong either flying coralskippers or manning the plasma cannons,   
missiles and dovin basals in the outermost perimeter of the (Long   
Reach).  
  
Krelt entered the temple and genuflected before the   
awesome effigy of Yun Yammka. His acolytes did likewise. He   
walked toward the rear of the temple and paused, briefly, to glance   
at the human prisoner.  
  
To Krelt's consternation, Drash Tevock had fallen into a   
comatose state shortly after Zeld Kwaad had visited the planetside   
temple. Attempts to rouse him had met with no success. The   
priest was not pleased at all: the human was hiding from pain   
instead of learning to embrace it, as Wras had under his care.   
Krelt might have tried some more drastic measures to get a   
response from the young human, but there simply wasn't time: the   
Executor had arrived on the seed world and ordered almost all   
Yuuzhan Vong back to the worldship, and from there most were   
put in small ships and sent away with the other noncombatants.  
  
One good thing came out of that confusion though: Krelt   
now had more time to work with his reluctant convert. With the   
worldship's damutek deserted and the few remaining shapers busy   
tending the dovin basals, plasma cannons and missiles, there was   
no one to take charge of the young infidel.  
  
Krelt studied the human with a critical olc it. Perhaps he   
should order his acolytes to kill the Imperial now. This comatose   
state was obviously an attempt to retreat from embracing his pain   
and finding meaning in his agony. Such weakness of character   
was not fit for a Yuuzhan Vong. Yun Yammka and Yun Yuuzhan   
had no use for flawed material, and to attempt to shape such   
material would be to profane the gods.  
  
He considered Drash a moment, then shook his burned   
head. No, Krelt was never one to give up and take the easy way   
out. This was now a matter of professional pride for him: he   
(would) bring Tevock to the gods, even if he had to take the   
human apart and reassemble him to do it.  
  
The priest turned from his infidel and summoned an   
acolyte. "Bring the provoker," he said, ?there is time yet before the   
attack. We will attempt to stimulate him to consciousness.?  
  
**********************************************  
Deep within himself, so deep no bodily sensation could   
touch him, Drash leaned his back against a bare stone wall and   
sank to the floor.  
  
He knew, of course, that none of this was 'real.' The   
storeroom, the boxes of supplies, the glowbulbs overhead, even his   
own body were nothing more than phantoms of his own devising.   
He could tell by the indistinct look of his surroundings, the way   
things grew fuzzy and indistinct unless he was looking right (at)   
them, how distances and dimensions seemed to change from   
moment to moment, even the 'wall' he leaned against felt spongy,   
like a form-fitting gel chair.  
  
In spite of the oddness, he had instantly recognized the   
'place' his subconscious had furnished for him: it was the warren   
of supply and storage rooms under the commune where he'd grown   
up. The interconnected rooms had been modified from natural   
cave formations in the rock, and Frae had used them to store   
necessities.  
  
It was also the place young Drash came to hide.  
  
No one would look here when the adults searched for him.   
As far as Frae knew, there was only one entrance to these rooms,   
and it was always well-guarded and blocked by a durasteel door   
only someone with a special key could open. Drash had found   
another way in, though: a tunnel concealed in the hillside, just big   
enough for a child to squeeze through.  
  
Drash had hated that tunnel, as he hated all small and   
enclosed spaces except a fighter's cockpit, but the feeling of safety   
he felt in here was worth squirming through the suffocating dark.   
This was his safe harbor, his fortress where not even Frae could   
touch him. The feeling was all the more precious for his   
knowledge that it couldn't last. He couldn't here stay for too long,   
or else he'd risk unwelcome questions about where he'd been. At   
all costs this place had to remain his.  
  
Even when the others (always 'the others,' he would never   
think of himself as one of them) came for supplies, he could   
hide behind the stacks of crates that held foodstuffs for the harsh   
winters, clothes, medicine, and most importantly weapons.  
  
Many of the airtight crates had been full of blaster rifles   
and pistols, for defense against violent smugglers, pirates or   
slavers that prowled the Outer Rim and might see Frae's colony as   
easy prey. There had been times, when Frae had noticed him in   
spite of these powers Vlu said he possessed, after a particularly   
brutal punishment when Drash had wanted nothing but to take one   
of those blasters and kill Frae, to go from house to house while the   
commune slept and kill (everyone,) but the crates were plasteel   
and opened only with a combination.  
  
Besides, the desire had always passed.  
  
Well, mostly.  
  
Odd that this was the setting his subconscious would   
present him. He hadn't seen this place in years.  
  
"There is a simple enough answer to your question." Drash   
turned his head toward the room?s other occupant, his head's other   
occupant, as the Nesz walked into view from behind a crate. The   
creature looked no different than its living cousins, except in   
Drash's eyes it seemed wavy, almost transparent, like something   
produced by a holoprojector with a low power pack.  
  
"Where've you been?" Drash snapped. "You left me for-"   
he frowned, time was odd here, it flowed like in a dream, "well,   
you left me here. I thought you were supposed to be helping me?"  
  
"I left you here, as you say, to think. In hopes you would   
find answers."  
  
"And what were you doing?" Drash retorted, remembering   
the way Vlu had responded to his thought. "Prying around my   
head!" It was an accusation, not a question.  
  
"Yes, in a manner of speaking." Vlu said. "I needed to   
understand you to help you, so I looked through your memories."   
The wavy shape shuddered at the experience. "I could not believe   
it at first: Nesz parents would never..." He looked at Drash with   
pity and understanding. "I'm sorry for you: life has not treated you   
well."  
  
"I'll kill you!" It was a silly response, considering the Nesz   
was already dead, but it was the only response that could   
adequately express his rage and outrage: his thoughts and   
memories were his own, not even Frae could touch that.  
  
But Krelt could, Drash had seen the truth of that in Wras'   
eyes. Vlu had promised to save him from that, and instead he was   
doing the same.  
  
Fear and rage tore though him as he surged away from the   
wall and hurled himself at the Eternal. His hands were closing   
around Vlu's throat, he could (feel) the scales as he pressed his   
fingers down, then there was nothing in his hands and Vlu was a   
meter away. "Do you want to know the answer or not?" The   
Eternal said.  
  
Drash ground his teeth. "I'm listening, lizard. Blow me   
away."  
  
"You've come full circle, Drash. You've hidden and run all   
your life, and now all you've found all your running has brought   
you nowhere but to where you started. You've come full-circle.   
Back to the place where you hatched. Back to Frae."  
  
"Frae's dead." Drash spoke coldly. "He rotted from the   
inside out."  
  
"Not here he hasn't." Vlu paced the length of the room, an   
indistinct shape among the crates. "You've kept him alive in your   
mind, now you see him in the flesh."  
  
"In the flesh?" The pilot echoed. "Where-?" Then his eyes   
dulled with understanding and he seemed to shrink into himself.   
"Krelt."  
  
"It was only natural you would retreat here." Vlu was   
beside him now, he lay a scale-covered hand on Drash' shoulder,   
the transparent appendage felt solid enough. This is your last   
hiding place, but Krelt will find you eventually." He flicked out   
his tongue and sighed. "These are conclusions you should have   
drawn, but you wont let yourself see the parallels. You hide from   
this understanding, as you hide from everything."  
  
Drash shook off the Eternal's comforting hand. He looked   
into its eyes, full of pity and understanding, so very human in such   
an alien face, and anger boiled up inside of him.  
  
"You're quick to pick out my mistakes," he snapped, "I   
guess that's because they're so close to your own."  
  
"What do you mean?" Vlu felt something of what was   
going through Drash's mind, it made the Eternal sound uneasy.   
Drash pounced like a predator who saw weakness in its prey.  
  
"And you say (I) can't acknowledge my mistakes?" He   
forced a laugh. "Look at you! Hiding from the universe seems to   
be your specialty. Tell me, what have (you) done but hide away   
in your little corner of space and try to pretend there was nothing   
beyond your own atmosphere? Well, look where hiding has gotten   
you!"  
  
"We had to protect ourselves," Vlu shot back, his own   
anger rose to meet Drash's, "we knew the sorts of beings who   
inhabit the rest of the galaxy: corrupt, corrupting, murderous,   
deceitful, violent aliens! We had to protect our young ones!"  
  
"Oh, you protected them just fine." Drash sneered. "You   
kept them children. You sheltered them with your tricks, but your   
powers couldn't touch the Yuuzhan Vong. What did your kids   
have to fight with then?" Vlu wilted under the onslaught and   
something almost like pity stirred within Drash, but the fighter   
pilot in him couldn't help but move in for the kill. "You couldn't   
have made this planet a better Vong target if you tried."  
  
The Eternal cringed as though Drash had struck him. He   
slowly sank to the floor. "You don't understand," he shook his   
head miserably, ?they were innocent. (We) were innocent: we   
wanted to stay that way. Our world...our world was a paradise."  
  
Vlu looked at the Imperial then, but where Drash had   
hoped to see rage and hate directed against him, all he perceived in   
the Nesz' eyes was pain and guilt, raw as an open wound, and the   
Eternal didn't even try to hide it.  
  
(Why would he show me his weakness?) Drash thought.   
He found it difficult to look the other being in the eye. He felt   
strange...as though his chest was being crushed by the gravity press   
in a climbing fighter. To his horror, he realized he was   
experiencing the Eternal's grief and pain. It must be the result of   
sharing his head with Vlu: strong emotions 'echoed' from one   
presence to the other.  
  
Whatever the reasoning behind this, it was horrible. Drash   
had never had children, a family member he truly cared for or a   
woman who held a special place in his heart. He'd never even   
owned a pet, and yet now he felt the pain of losing children,   
friends, families, everything the Eternals had loved so much and   
tried so hard to protect. It was terrible.  
  
It was unfair!  
  
And along with those emotions came something like a   
complete thought from Vlu: how can I expect to get through to this   
human, an alien even among his own kind: a creature that   
understood only pain and the threat of pain.  
  
Drash couldn't believe it: after he'd all but torn Vlu open   
and turned him inside-out the Eternal was (still) determined to   
help him!  
  
"What is (wrong) with you?" The human exploded. Vlu   
merely looked at him. "No," Drash seethed, "don't pity me. Don't   
you (dare) pity me!" He backed away. "I've gotta get outta here.   
Tell me how to get outta here!" He demanded.  
  
"There is only one way out for you, Drash." Vlu looked to   
the durasteel door. "Through there."  
  
"No," the Imperial's reply was instantaneous, he turned to   
the far corner, to the narrow tunnel to the hillside.  
  
"You're not a child anymore." Vlu's voice froze him. "You   
wont fit through that tunnel. It has to be the door."  
  
Drash rounded on the Eternal. "All right then," he glared at   
Vlu, "the door."  
  
The pilot walked toward the sheet of durasteel that filled   
the doorway. He was halfway there when he noticed the icy   
fingers that played lightly along his flesh, two more steps and those   
fingers tightened their invisible hold on him. Drash didn't let his   
stride break, he wouldn't falter in front of that self-righteous little   
lizard ghost.  
  
After another step the rock walls began to flex and ripple.   
The floor heaved under him like he was walking on a body-  
conforming gel-bed. He forced himself to take another step, then   
another. He had to get out: nothing could be worse than staying in   
this room with Vlu, than having those eyes of his, so full of sorrow   
and terrible but gentle wisdom directed at him, than listening as   
the Eternal delved into his thoughts and memories and saw the   
things Drash had hidden for so long. Worse, he would force the   
Imperial to confront those things he'd made himself forget over the   
years.  
  
Vlu thought Drash was an alien creature. What a laugh.   
The Eternal was something Drash could never comprehend: a   
being who would not meet hate and violence with the same, no   
matter what.  
  
  
Bands of durasteel tightened around his chest, the cold   
fingers were now icy claws that tore into his midsection and   
twisted his innards. The took another step.  
  
(This isn't real!) He told himself fiercely. (None of it!   
Not the room, not the door, not what I'm feeling.) Drash tried to   
disregard the terror that ran like a wild, starving thing inside him,   
but though he knew intellectually that these surroundings were all   
just fantasy, he couldn't convince the primal part of his mind to   
follow his flight plan.  
  
Then he was a single step from the door, and after he went   
through...Drash didn't think that far ahead. He never did:   
overcoming the present hurdle was always his goal. His plan was   
always how to escape (this) beating, to vape (this) ship and   
allow the future to sort itself out. His instincts would see him   
through whatever came. They always did. He reached for the   
door, and could go no farther.  
  
Someone was hunting him.  
  
A presence roamed the rooms and corridors in the upper   
levels beyond. Waves of terror stronger than any he'd felt before   
rolled over him, obliterating his resolve. The presence above   
strode through his brain, secure in its own power. It opened doors,   
overturned tables, knocked aside pieces of furniture in search of   
secret doors or alcoves where a child might hide. A disobedient   
child hiding from his punishment.  
  
It was Frae, come for him at last.  
  
"No," Drash whimpered, then snapped his mouth shut: the   
cult leader would hear him even through layers of stone and   
durasteel. He recoiled and was across the room an instant later,   
crouching behind a stack of crates, his back braced against the   
stone wall. (No, no, no, no please no!) In his desperation he   
offered up something very like a prayer to the uncaring void.  
"Yes, Drash." Vlu was beside him. "He'll find us soon,   
even here in the deepest, most hidden part of your mind."  
  
"Hide me," Drash begged, "I'll do anything you want,   
anything, just don't let him find me!" Anything resembling pride   
was gone from the pilot's whispered voice.  
  
"There is nowhere to hide." The Eternal shook his head.   
"This is the last place, and that door will not keep him out once he   
finds it. The only choice you have left is whether you'll stay here   
and wait for your tormentor," he looked to the door, "or go out and   
face him."  
  
*************************************************  
Nom Anor paced the length of the command chamber, his   
hands clasped behind his back. He was nervous, he hated to admit   
it and certainly wouldn't to anyone else, but he was. The battle   
with the Imperials was imminent, which meant the Jedi would be   
coming here soon: Nom Anor didn't doubt she knew where   
Thrawn's fleet was and how close they were drawing, either   
through some mechanical means of communication or that strange   
'Force' of hers, so she would have to strike now.  
  
Her plan was clear to any half-decent strategist. She had   
been seen with the infidel pilots so she knew of the focusing tower   
and the danger it represented to the Imperial fleet, and with the   
garrison almost entirely gone now was the perfect chance for the   
natives to rid this planet of the Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
Nom Anor had planned accordingly. The living defenses   
encircling the settlement were formidable: magma turrets covered   
every approach, living vines with poison-ejecting thorns were   
buried in the ground around the settlement as well, and would   
sprout up to capture and kill anything that tried to cross over them,   
and dovin basals had raised a ten-meter gravity barrier behind   
(that.) There were other traps too, many others, and the routes   
into the base that promised a hope of safety were really the most   
dangerous of all.  
  
"Let the enemy fight" was the old proverb Yun Harla had   
handed down to her followers, and Nom Anor had followed the   
spirit of that strategy. Yet he was still unsure. Though they might   
disapprove of aggression, the Jedi were notoriously adept at attack,   
and this one in particular had a maddening habit of doing what you   
were most unprepared for when you least expected it.  
  
Nom Anor looked to the display of living light generated by   
a villip choir and saw the entire base and surrounding area in   
miniature. Nothing but burnt out wasteland stretched for miles   
around, the columns of black smoke from the forest fires billowed   
into the sky at the outermost edge of the visual field, and not a sign   
of movement. He clenched his teeth and wished he could go out   
and actively look for the Jedi, but the garrison just didn't have the   
numbers. Nom Anor didn't like being on the defensive, nor being   
a target, but there was nothing to be done but wait.  
  
"Brooding?" Nom Anor jumped and turned to find Ceis   
Grasm two steps behind him. He cursed himself: how could he   
expect to see the Jedi coming when he couldn't even take note of   
who was in the same room with him?  
  
"Honing your reflexes, it seems." The subaltern cocked her   
head to one side, her half-smile as irritating as it was fetching. "I   
pity the infidel who has to face you. Oh, it should take awhile for   
them to get your attention, but I'm sure you'll deign to notice them   
eventually."  
  
Nom Anor pasted an easy smile across his face. He'd been   
mistaken when he'd thought their time in the swamp might temper   
this female: she still never missed an opportunity to bait him.   
Nothing had changed, it seemed. "I have strategies to consider,   
subaltern. I leave it to the warriors to see nothing more than what   
is right in front of them."  
  
"Ah, such a wise and cunning intendant, with ploys and   
stratagems well beyond me." Ceis Grasm shook her head and   
tisked. "Though I would have thought you would notice (me.)   
You certainly had more than a passing regard for me earlier.   
Perhaps you've tired of me already." She circled him, her scent   
tickling his nostrils, creeping under his skin. No, things had   
definitely changed. Their wordplay now had some new and   
interesting dimensions.  
  
He caught her arm as she made to step away. "I think I   
should reacquaint myself." He leaned forward and bared his fangs.   
She snapped her own sharp teeth together in answer.  
  
And they sprang apart when the door-valve irised open,   
admitting a sullen Ke'Nas.  
  
"The infidel fleet is here, you may be interested to know."   
The prefect bit the words out as he strode toward them.  
  
"I have other things to hold my interest." Nom Anor said   
dismissively. He glanced at Ceis Grasm and saw her stifling a   
smile.  
  
"Jeedai watching, yes I forgot," he said, missing the joke.   
The prefect didn't attempt to keep the glower from his face as he   
went on. "And we wait in a focusing tower, cleaning up vermin   
while the Executor wins glory above."  
  
"This tower will bring us victory." Nom Anor reminded   
him. "Is the controller in place?"  
  
Ke'Nas blinked. "I suppose so."  
  
"Let's check and make sure." He turned and strode to the   
far door, Ceis Grasm at his side, leaving the prefect no choice but   
to follow in their wake. Beyond lay a circular room ringed with   
dovin basals. A shaper sat cross-legged at the center, he had lain   
his headdress aside and donned a cognition hood which connected   
him to the ceiling.  
  
"Satisfied?" The prefect bit out. Nom Anor detected a sour   
whiff of wine on his breath. "Everything is set up. Now we can   
kick up our heels and sleep through the battle." He glanced at Ceis   
Grasm, and his sneer twisted a few more centimeters. "Though I   
imagine you two will find some way of entertaining yourselves."  
  
The subaltern narrowed her eyes, but said nothing. Ke'Nas   
might be dense, but he had enough wit to guess what had prompted   
her to shift loyalties.  
  
Nom Anor's smile was a mere twist of his mouth. "Let's   
see how close the infidels are." He stepped toward the viewing   
chamber they had come from, but Ke'Nas quickly spun and took   
off for the room at a fast walk, so that he would have the   
appearance of leading the other two.  
  
********************************************  
"Sir, scouts report visual confirmation of Sevac III," a   
comm officer reported.  
  
"Tactical display." At Thrawn's response, a small   
hologram of the planet glowed to life above a display screen. The   
planet had a large, discolored area, obviously the Vong site, over   
which something the size of a moon hung in synchronous orbit.  
  
"The (Long Reach)," Parck's voice was grim.  
  
"And an unpleasant surprise," Thrawn pointed out. Around   
the planet and the worldship, blocking all routes, was an asteroid   
field. The fighters poked around the edges of the field,   
transmitting the data to the tactical computers.  
  
"The star charts said nothing about asteroids this close to   
the planet." Parck frowned, something wasn't quite right here. A   
moment later he saw it: the asteroids, swarms of them, were in   
synchronous orbit as well. It looked like there were thousands of   
them, and all were in a (formation), more, they were moving in the   
exact same rate, to maintain this formation. The worldship sat at   
the center of the field, and Parck could see it would be a nightmare   
to bring the fleet through that.  
  
"There were no asteroids." Thrawn said. "Sang Anor has   
been very busy, it seems."  
  
"He's moved a significant section of the asteroid field to   
shield him and the planet."  
  
"That he has, Captain, though it's no more than I'd   
expected, given the capacity of his dovin basals."  
  
Parck was trying to calculate a safe route through to the   
worldship when another realization struck him. "Sir, those Vong   
vessels that attacked -" he faltered, "the Chiss Homeworld, they   
looked like asteroids. They could be hiding in that field, in plain   
sight," (and they can tear through the shields on a capital ship),   
hung unspoken but understood.  
  
"Indeed, Captain, indeed." The Grand Admiral nodded.  
  
"Sir, wing commander is requesting permission to fly in for   
a closer look."  
  
"Denied." Thrawn said. "They're to go no further, wait for   
the rest of the fleet."  
  
"Sir," Parck ventured, "it might be good to scout for those   
world-killers. There can't be that much danger: TIE fighters are   
fast enough to avoid asteroids and there can't be many Vong ships   
hiding among the rocks."  
  
Thrawn turned to Parck. "There is no point to them   
throwing their lives away, Captain, which is what will happen if   
they venture any closer."  
  
********************************************  
Atop its pedestal, the yammosk lashed its tentacles. Its   
many eyes blinked rapidly as it saw the Imperial fighters. Farther   
off and out of reach, the bulk of the fleet moved ever closer.  
  
"Yes, I see them." Sang Anor sent the coordinator soothing   
thoughts. Standing beside it, armored in vonduun crabs, he had a   
clear view of everything represented below in living light. His fed   
his amphistaff a live ranat that squirmed in his guantleted hand as   
he watched the fighters, hovering just beyond the asteroid field.   
"Thrawn is holding his scouts back," he observed as the serpent   
swallowed the treat. So the Chiss suspected. No matter: he would   
still need to move his fleet through the asteroid field to approach   
the Long Reach. But in the meanwhile...he might as well whet the   
yammosk's appetite.  
  
He sent the coordinator his approval to proceed and felt the   
yammosk's satisfaction.  
  
The asteroids had each been fitted with a powerful dovin   
basal and most had hollowed-out sections. In the display below,   
each rock was a different color, to represent whether it carried   
grutchin, missiles, coralskippers, explosives or was equipped with   
multiple dovin basals to act as shields for other vessels. The desk   
hai were also present, as were the five fully-grown warships.  
  
One of the asteroids began to move slightly off its path,   
inching closer to the fighters.  
  
"Serve up the first course for Yun Yammka." Sang Anor   
whispered.  
  
*******************************************  
Thrawn was the first to notice the stray asteroid. "Pull the   
scouts back." His voice snapped like a shocklash. The comm   
officer hastened to obey, but before he could send the signal a   
swarm of grutchin streaked from the rock in a single burst of   
speed. The unshielded TIE Interceptors were destroyed in   
seconds. The two Advanced ships lasted almost a minute before   
succumbing to the same fate. Thrawn heard every panicked word   
of the pilots over the comm in stony silence, right up until the end.  
  
"Another few deaths to pay the Vong back for." He said   
softly.  
  
*******************************************  
"First blood." Sang Anor smiled. "Here I am, Thrawn.   
You want me? Come and get me."  
  
******************************************  
Stent licked his lips, a nervous gesture no Chiss would ever   
stoop to in public, but since there was no light even for his eyes to   
see by, he thought he was safe enough. He wasn't claustrophobic,   
but crawling through a tunnel so narrow he felt earth brush either   
shoulder as he moved wasn't a very agreeable experience under the   
best of circumstances.  
  
Crawling through a pitch-black tunnel, crowded with   
humans, Chiss and Nesz and full of water besides added new and   
unpleasant dimensions. He felt the sure weight of his blaster   
pistol, wrapped in layers of Nesz skin to keep it dry, against his   
chest and pulled himself forward through the water by finding   
handholds in the tunnel walls. He pushed with his feet as well. He   
felt a thick tail brush his forearms and was suddenly glad of the   
darkness: all he?d have to look at would be a Nesz rump.  
  
Slow, steady breaths, he reminded himself. It was   
important not to panic: that would be death down here. Well,   
Stent was a fighter pilot and a Chiss, he knew how to stay cool, as   
the human phrased it, even with no helmet or breathing gear.  
  
Stent didn't understand how the bubble of air remained   
around his head, any more than he understood the underwater   
domes, but like the domes he had no choice but to rely on it. That   
was another reason for the careful breathing: once the air ran out...  
  
He hoped they were close, even combat was preferable to   
this.  
  
(If I ever again see another Jedi,) he thought, (I'll shoot first   
and talk later.)  
  
**********************************************  
Standing off from the asteroid field, Thrawn ordered   
volleys of turboblasterfire sprayed into the rocks. A couple dozen   
were destroyed, but most simply moved back, out of range.  
  
"They're falling back!" One of the group-captains   
announced via hologram.  
  
"No, they're trying to lure you closer," Raine's image   
regarded the human coldly. "The asteroids will retreat at one point   
and surround your ships from the sides as you pursue."  
  
"Correct." Thrawn said. "But Star Destroyers have more   
than sufficient strength to repel conventional attacks as well as   
asteroid collisions. We will further divide their forces by striking   
three points simultaneously." He assigned three strike forces of six   
groups each, roughly thirty Star Destroyers and their lesser ships,   
and told them which points to attack. Raine and the phalanx were   
to wait in reserve. The Chiss female said nothing as the ships took   
up positions.  
  
*********************************************  
"Excellent, excellent." Sang Anor nodded and scratched   
under his amphistaff's jaw. He picked out the Imperator, Thrawn's   
ship undoubtably. "The tower will target that group, the one   
Thrawn leads. The other ships will lose heart, break and flee when   
they see their comrades vanish before their eyes.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Nom Anor smiled when he heard the yammosk's message   
from the villip master.  
  
"It begins." Ceis Grasm said. She drew closer to him, her   
gleaming eyes riveted on the images. Nom Anor's own eyes   
gleamed when he glanced at her. Warriors were naturally excited   
by combat: he would be eager to get her alone when the battle was   
over.  
  
"Yun Yammka feasts well," he agreed as the Imperial ships   
plunged into the space their barrages had cleared and were set   
upon at the sides. Turboblasters lashed out at the asteroids while   
the rocks themselves launched missiles. Asteroids filled with   
explosive chemicals would latch onto a Star Destroyer with a   
dovin basal and pull themselves toward the ship with a single burst   
of speed, expending all their energy at once.  
  
The most valuable asteroids were the Juurgo, what the   
shapers had dubbed 'shield rocks.' They were equipped with   
multiple dovin basals, allowing them to move quickly and project   
powerful singularities.  
  
The Juurgo could move in quickly and shield the their   
asteroids, then move back when their dovin basals grew tired and   
others took their places. By the time those tired, the first group   
was fresh and able to move in again.  
  
Their most useful function was making holes in the   
infidels' energy shields so the missiles and bomb-rocks could get   
through. Three Star Destroyers erupted into quickly-extinguished   
flame. A fourth and fifth followed suit, taken in the side by desk   
hai, but asteroids were being destroyed too.  
  
Wings of TIE fighters streaked out to engage and destroy   
the asteroids, and were met by corralskippers and grutchin while   
the yammosk steered the asteroids? dovin basals to shield the   
coralskippers with their mass and increase the fighters? chances of   
crashing.  
  
"Oh, what I could do up there," Ke'Nas said softly, hands   
clenched.  
  
"Any second now..." Nom Anor looked back to the central   
chamber, where the shaper sat, then turned back to the display. A   
second later one of the Destroyers in Thrawn's group vanished.  
  
***************************************  
"Kinless-!" A shocked Chiss forgot himself and half-rose   
from his seat. He saw the disapproving red stares of the other alien   
crewers and quickly returned to his station, chastised. Their   
discipline infected the shaken humans, allowing them to remain   
calm at their own stations when panic would not only be probable,   
but understandable: the Marauder, an Imperial-class capital ship,   
had shrunk into nothing between eyeblinks.  
  
That discipline served them well: the asteroids redoubled   
their attacks, counting on catching the Imperials off-guard in their   
moment of shock. Unity Fleet held firm and repelled the renewed   
assault, two frigates and a cruiser exploded, but scores of asteroids   
fragmented under the turboblaster barrage as the Imperial fleet   
continued its push to the worldship.  
  
"Sensors," Thrawn's controlled, authoritative voice didn?t   
give a hint of stress, "I want an analysis of what happened to the   
(Marauder)."  
  
"A gravitational anomaly, sir." The officer reported. "The   
same sort generated by dovin basals, but on a much larger scale   
and projected within the ship itself. It lasted a fraction of a second   
before collapsing."  
  
"Long enough to swallow a capital ship." Thrawn said   
coldly.  
  
"What could do this?" Parck breathed.  
  
"A planetary-based installation," Thrawn said at once, "no   
doubt the reason Sang Anor chose this battleground."  
  
"What can we do?"  
  
"Send three wings of TIE fighters to the planet," Thrawn   
ordered, "they are to locate that projector and destroy it at any   
cost."  
  
Parck hastened to obey, the order was just relayed when   
another Star Destroyer vanished.  
  
************************************************  
Nom Anor saw Wras walk through a living doorway. He   
snapped his fists to his shoulders and bowed his head, eyes   
glowing restlessly. "I have completed my patrol. There is no sign   
of the infidels or the slaves."  
  
Nom Anor returned the salute, not letting his disquiet   
show: the fire behind the former Chiss' eyes made him uneasy.   
Wras was at once so alien and so familiar.  
  
"And now you want to take a coralskipper up to join the   
battle." Ke'Nas concluded sullenly. "Why not? You have my   
leave, go."  
  
Wras bowed and made to step away, when a villip perched   
on the edge of the visual display everted and took on the features   
of a Yuuzhan Vong. Nom Anor recognized the subaltern   
commanding the base's outer defenses.  
  
"I beg leave to report." The villip said.  
  
"You have it." Nom Anor answered. Ke'Nas glared at the   
young Yuuzhan Vong for usurping his authority. Wras reluctantly   
turned back.  
  
"The smoke clouds over the fires are moving in our   
direction."  
  
Ke'Nas frowned. "I have no need of a weather report,   
contact me when you have something more to say than what   
direction the wind is blowing."  
  
"Your pardon, Prefect, but the smoke is moving (against)   
the wind, and in such mass it threatens our visibility."  
  
"What are you babbling about?" Nom Anor snapped.  
  
"It is approaching the outermost sensor field even now, it-"   
he broke off then, as a coughing fit seized him. Nom Anor spun   
away from the villip and looked to the holographic representation.  
  
Before his disbelieving eyes, an ebony tide slowly rolled   
over the base. The thick, black covered first the outer   
installations, then the fields and inner structures, all the way to the   
focusing tower itself.  
  
"Gods, it's not possible," Ke'Nas shook his head, "where   
did that come from?"  
  
Ceis Grasm came forward and adjusted the touch-pad   
controls. The view expanded in the direction of the smoke, where   
they saw the fires. The columns of smoke did not billow upward   
to disperse in the sky, but combined into a single, impossibly thick   
pillar and curved sharply down, in their direction. Subaltern,   
prefect and Chiss convert gaped in amazed disbelief, but Nom   
Anor felt his skin tingle in numb rage.  
  
"It's the Jedi." He said in answer to their unspoken   
questions. She was responsible, he didn't understand how, but he   
knew that much.  
  
Villips everted, revealing surprised and angry Yuuzhan   
Vong faces, either hacking or donning gnulliths and eyeguards.  
  
"Prefect! Subaltern! Infidel blasterfire near the central   
grashals!" One reported.  
  
"The temple grounds are under assault, unshaped slaves -"   
another broke off as his villip inverted. Voices overwhelmed each   
other in the struggle to be heard, but relative peace was established   
when, one-by-one, half a dozen went silent. Nom Anor and Ceis   
Grasm glanced at each other, the subaltern nodded: the speakers   
were being killed, most likely by invaders.  
  
The tenders of the outer defenses chimed in next, reporting   
they too were under attack, but from behind, by beings that   
approached from within the base itself. One subaltern got a good   
enough look to report the attackers were indeed Imperials and   
slaves, hidden by the smoke, before he too was silenced.  
  
"Seal off the tower," Ke'Nas said to Wras. The once-Chiss   
hurried to obey.  
  
"No," Nom Anor said, "leave the gates open, for now."  
  
Ke'Nas and Ceis Grasm rounded on him. "Are you mad?"   
The prefect said. "We don't have the numbers to go out and meet   
them."  
  
"We wont, but a grashal's walls won't hold back a   
lightsaber." Nom Anor smiled. "But they wont make their own   
entryways if the gates are open."  
  
"So?" Ke'Nas demanded.  
  
"The Jedi is coming here, that's clear enough. This is our   
chance to take her."  
  
"We're in the middle of a battle!" Ke'Nas sputtered.  
  
"I'm aware of that," he turned to Wras, "ready the Sacrifice   
Protocol." The shaped Chiss bowed and hurried away, red eyes   
expressionless.  
  
"Now?" Ceis Grasm arched a brow. "Are you sure?"   
Ke'Nas was too sick with anger to make any response at all.  
  
"We had always intended to destroy all this world's life,   
native and our own creatures alike, when we abandoned this   
world. If the slaves are rising against us, now is our last chance."  
  
"If the focusing tower is destroyed it will not be able to   
project singularities," Ke'Nas glared at him.  
  
"It will keep working right up until the end," Nom Anor   
said, "it doesn't matter in any case: the infidels will soon lose heart   
and flee. Now we must prepare to receive the Jedi."  
  
*******************************************  
"We must break off the attack and regroup," one of the two   
holographic commanders said, strain coloring his voice.  
  
"We cannot," was Thrawn's immediate response. "The   
fleet has gone too far to turn back: if we lose momentum we lose   
the battle, the Unknown Regions and all the galaxy."  
  
The Imperator rocked around them at a volley of coral   
missiles, the answering salvo of turboblaster bolts vaporized the   
offending asteroids. Fast-flying TIE fighters swarmed around a   
shielding rock and destroyed it.  
  
Parck was nearly pitched to the floor by the assault,   
Thrawn never budged a centimeter. Conventional attacks were   
beginning to take a heavy toll on Thrawn's group: his had been the   
sole target of the singularity-projector. A gruesome pattern had   
quickly developed: the weapon could destroy three capital ships in   
quick succession before pausing to rest for about ten minutes, then   
resuming the assault. Already Thrawn's strike force was at half-  
strength, less able to repel the asteroids.  
  
"TIE fighters have been dispatched to assault the planetary   
base," Thrawn said. "Then their weapon will be destroyed. We   
(must) hold until then."  
  
"Admiral, we have no choice," the other commander said.   
"Our soldiers are brave, but this invisible force is taking the heart   
out of them. To fight an enemy is one thing, but to see comrades   
extinguished before your eyes in something else." The image   
glanced nervously over its shoulder and lowered its voice. "It's as   
if you're telling them to march off a cliff, or fly into a sun. Even   
the Chiss crewers look doubtful. If you don't give the order the   
crews will rebel and break away without it, then we (will) lose."  
  
In his passive face, Thrawn's eyes flashed with a   
frightening intensity. "Give me an open channel, projected into all   
our ships," he said. The comm officer licked his lips and   
complied. Thrawn clasped his hands behind his back.  
  
In all his life, Parck would never forget what happened   
next. To him, it was the most marvelous event in an ordeal filled   
with marvels and terrors beyond experience. It was a miracle.  
  
"Men of Unity Fleet," Thrawn said, "you know me, you   
know my deeds and my worth. I know each of you. I know what   
you are capable of. That is all the encouragement I need say.  
  
"Humans, retreat now in the face of these creatures and you   
will soon see them above your worlds and in your homes, come to   
feed their gods with the blood of your wives and children. There   
will be nowhere safe to flee.  
  
"Chiss, before you is the man who killed Homeworld. I   
will not retreat while he lives. Will you?" He made a single, sharp   
gesture and the comm officer cut the transmition. Nothing had   
changed, but in a more fundamental way (everything) had   
changed.  
  
It was not the words themselves that set fire to Parck's   
blood, nor the pitch or timber that delivered them, but something   
more; some power innate to Thrawn himself. His charisma, the   
force of his will, his...power, for lack of a better description,   
seemed to envelope all Unity Fleet.  
  
At that moment, Parck would have leapt off a cliff without   
a second thought if Thrawn gave the word. He suspected the rest   
of Unity Fleet felt the same. The commanders' eyes gleamed with   
newfound purpose as they signed off.  
  
**********************************************  
The yammosk's anger and confusion infected Sang Anor   
through their mental link, the amphistaff sensed him tense and   
perked its head up, looking for danger. The Executor forced   
himself to relax, to remain calm. He stroked the amphistaff gently.  
  
The war coordinator blinked its bulging eyes rapidly. By   
its calculations, the infidels should have broken into a confused   
route by now.  
  
"Thrawn is more persuasive than I surmised," Sang Anor   
mused. He smiled. "It's of no consequence. Words might stir a   
man's heart to action, but in the end they are only wind and noise.   
Reality will win them over, and they will fail you."  
  
The yammosk alerted him to the TIE fighters streaking   
ahead of the fleet, on course for the planet. He sent a detachment   
of coralskippers to deal with them. He gave another order and the   
five complete battleships moved forward to engage Thrawn's   
diminished flotilla.  
  
*******************************************  
Thrawn spun to the comm officer. "Open a channel to the   
Sentinel." Raine?s image flickered to life on the Imperator's   
bridge, as apparently relaxed as the Admiral himself.   
"Commander," the bridge shook again, "we are in need of   
assistance, plot a course for my strike force."  
  
"Syndic." She gave a sharp salute and the hologram   
vanished. Seconds later the phalanx was fighting through the   
asteroid cluster, vaporizing asteroids and coralskippers as they   
went. They more than reinforced Thrawn's ships as they plunged   
forward, toward the worldship.  
  
******************************************  
"Your phalanx has joined the battle, Syndic," Raine said to   
the Admiral's image.  
  
"Acknowledged, Commander," Thrawn responded. "I was   
well to leave you in reserve. I knew I could count on my phalanx   
in our time of greatest need."  
  
Raine said nothing, but she felt her teeth clench in reflex.   
Very clever, the Syndic had turned the implied insult of being left   
behind into a sign of high favor and regard. More, she saw small   
signs of gratitude, pleasure and even devotion in the Chiss crewers   
around her. When this battle began the phalanx served Thrawn   
only out of duty, but brief but rousing speech earlier had won their   
admiration. Now he had just taken the first step toward winning   
their hearts.  
  
She felt a flash of resentment. This phalanx belonged to   
Vraet, who was more to her than any Syndic could be. Guilt   
joined with anger when she felt some of that warmth herself at   
Thrawn's compliment.  
  
"We are nearing the planet," Thrawn said. "When we are in   
range I will send a division of ground forces to assault the enemy   
base. General Beyin, prepare to join them." Beyin gave his assent.  
  
"We will press on to the worldship," Raine put in. (For   
Homeworld and for Vraet, not for you).  
  
******************************************  
Vergere sliced through an amphistaff, spun and decapitated   
the Yuuzhan Vong who held it. She peered through the smoke and   
saw blasterfire bring down another warrior, while eight Nesz bore   
a third Yuuzhan Vong to the ground and tore him apart.  
  
"Where is this Vong weapon?" A sopping-wet Stent was   
beside her, blaster ready.  
  
"This way," she pointed with her lightsaber, "to the tower."   
She continued toward the tall structure at a sprint, her own wet   
robes swirling around her. The Yuuzhan Vong had guarded the   
perimeter of their base well: layers of traps, defenders on every   
route, they had thought of everything.  
  
Everything except the lake they used to flush out waste and   
bring in fresh water, and how long a Nesz could hold its breath.   
Vergere and her ragtag army had surfaced in the very heart of the   
settlement, while the Eternals directed the smoke clouds to cover   
them. The handful of Yuuzhan Vong that composed the garrison   
were taken completely by surprise.  
  
So far so good, but she had to hurry, she felt the battle   
above as human and Chiss death rippled through the Force, and the   
shock of an entire capital ship full of lives destroyed in an instant.   
That focusing tower had to be put out of commission or the day   
would go to Sang Anor.  
  
Oin was beside her as they entered the tower's open gate,   
while Stent and two dozen Imperials and Nesz followed her in   
storming the structure, leaving the rest to mop up what resistance   
remained.  
  
"What's the target?" Stent asked. Lumin bugs flitted above   
them and the cool, processed air was almost refreshing after the   
humidity of the swamp.  
  
"Control room," the Fosh Jedi responded, "ground floor,   
center of the base." They bounded through doorways and down   
empty halls. At the end of a final stretch of hallway she saw their   
goal: a tactical observation room complete with displays of the   
base. Beyond that room she saw a large, domed chamber encircled   
by dovin basals. Inside, a shaper sat amid images of the battle   
itself. Aside from that single shaper, there was no evidence of   
other Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
Vergere ran through the door into the observation room,   
Oin and Stent at her heels, and the gateway snapped shut. A Nesz   
screamed as the living door cut her in half, Vergere felt her pain   
tear through the Force and spun around. A wall of coral cut them   
off from their fellows.  
  
Stent pounded on the door, then looked to Vergere. "Can   
you open it?"  
  
She pointed her lightsaber at the seam. "Stand back."  
  
"Don't bother, Jedi." Nom Anor stepped from a side door.   
"It was a worthy try, but futile."  
  
Vergere raised her lightsaber in a guard position. "You've   
lost, Nom Anor, and so has your father." Stent aimed his blaster at   
the extragalactic. "The base has fallen, and your worldship along   
with it."  
  
Nom Anor merely smiled as he crossed the room. "I think   
not." Doors around the room opened and ten more Yuuzhan Vong   
rushed out. Three stood beside Nom Anor. One was a broad-  
shouldered male with a sneering face and sullen eyes, Vergere had   
seen him once or twice during her captivity, a junior prefect whose   
name she couldn't recall. Another was female, a rarity among the   
warrior caste, she had dark eyes and had a grace of movement that   
could only be called deadly. The third...was a Chiss. He had the   
tattoos and scars of a Yuuzhan Vong, but the skin and eyes clearly   
said 'Chiss.' The other seven moved to surround Vergere and her   
companions, amphistaffs raised and ready.  
  
"I see you brought your pet." Nom Anor glanced at Oin,   
who bared his fangs and hissed.  
  
"How long do you think that door will hold them." Vergere   
could hear the other Imperials and Nesz prying at the seem, it   
bulged slightly. "It's not armor. Your deaths will mean nothing   
here, leave now and we won't pursue, you may be able to escape."   
The shaper continued to observe the battle, oblivious to what went   
on outside his cognition hood.  
  
"It will hold them long enough." He stroked a control-pad   
and the image of the base shifted to a view of the hallway they had   
come from. Vergere saw the Imperials and Nesz at the door,   
blasting the shell-like iris-cover or prying with teeth and claws.   
The doorway at the other end of the hall snapped shut and bluish   
mist began to flood the space.  
  
"Nerve gas," Nom Anor's eyes gleamed. "Drop your   
weapon, Jedi, and surrender. I will open the far door and allow the   
rabble in the hall to leave the tower if you do. If not, they die."  
  
Stent seemed not to hear. He pointed his blaster at the   
Chiss-Vong, eyes burning like hellfires. "What is that   
abomination?" He demanded, voice low and hoarse.  
  
"The future." The shaped Chiss answered. "Yours and all   
our races.'"  
  
"You (dare) do that to a Chiss!" Stent snarled.  
  
The sneering prefect snarled at Nom Anor in their own   
language. Nom Anor snapped a brief reply. "Your time is running   
out, Jedi. Surrender now. Coralskippers in a launching bay above   
wait to take us back to the Long Reach of Death. My father is   
anxious to see you again."  
  
Stent glanced at the image of his choking comrades, at the   
seven Yuuzhan Vong surrounding them, at the closed door behind   
him and finally at Vergere. She turned her violet eyes to his red   
ones and (sent) him a thought. "I think we have mission to   
complete."  
  
"Jedi!" Nom Anor snapped. "Your friends are dying."  
  
"I think you're right." Stent smiled, raised his blaster and   
fired.  
  
The bolt streaked through the air and burned through the   
Shaper's cognitian hood. The controller fell backwards to the coral   
floor, dead.  
  
The shaped Chiss roared. The seven warriors sprang at   
them. Nom Anor turned to the prefect, probably to tell him to go   
man the controls, and Vergere made her move.  
  
She threw her lightsaber, not at the Yuuzhan Vong but at   
the ceiling, and directed it with the force. The blade spun with   
such speed it seemed a violet, glowing disk. It swept through the   
swarm of lumin bugs, incinerating them with a touch. The room   
plunged into darkness.  
  
Confusion. Shouts and curses. She saw the glow of Stent's   
eyes, his face and that of the shaped Chiss seemed to float in a   
wash of ghostly, red light. Blasterfire ricocheted off vonduun crab   
armor, Oin crashed into warrior's legs and bowled the Vong over.   
Vergere made her lightsaber drop to chest height and continue   
flying: buzzing disk of violet light killed all it touched. Vergere   
made it avoid the life-signs of Stent and Oin, but she couldn't   
sense the Yuuzhan Vong. No matter, it was enough that it   
confused the warriors.  
  
Now came the hardest part. She needed to maintain   
control of the saber's flight and use the Force to probe the organs   
beneath the coral wall at the same time. She could not touch the   
Yuuzhan Vong structure directly with the Force energy, but she   
could gather air molecules and ignite them, generating a spark of   
electricity that would hopefully stimulate the muscles of the door.  
  
The pain and fear of her companions on the other side of   
the door was like needles pressing into her skin. She had to induce   
a trance, to find that calm, still point within herself from which   
everything could be viewed clearly. She quickly probed at the   
organs, not able to touch them directly but getting a sense of their   
shape and function all the same. Vergere didn't know where the   
proper point in the structure was, she had to act on instinct.  
  
(May the Force be with me,) she thought as the spark ran   
along the muscle.  
  
As she hoped, it clenched and the door irised open.   
Vergere was nearly bowled over as two-score Nesz and Imperials   
rushed inside to escape the gas. The hall's surviving lumin bugs   
rushed in as well, sensing untainted air. Light flooded the room,   
dazzlingly bright for a moment before their eyes adjusted. Vergere   
called her lightsaber back and it flew into her outstretched hand.  
  
"You've won nothing, Jedi!" Nom Anor roared. "Your   
victory is dust, as I speak it is being done!"  
  
Vergere ignored him and sent another jolt into the muscle.   
It clenched a second time, closing the door and sealing the gas in   
the hallway. She staggered to her feet and scanned the room,   
noting the seven Yuuzhan Vong corpses. There were also two   
dead Imperials and three Nesz. Oin and Stent were not among the   
slain, she quickly saw.  
  
"Where is it?" Stent all but screamed. "Where is that   
abomination?" He hurried around the room, checking all the doors   
for retreating figures, but the shaped Chiss wasn't to be found. Nor   
was the prefect, the female, or Nom Anor.  
  
*************************************************  
Nom Anor ran as though a pack of starving neks were   
nipping at his heels, even so, Ceis Grasm quickly passed him and   
reached the lift first. She waited for Nom Anor, then slammed her   
palm against the touch pad when he was inside. The door irised   
shut and the platform on which they stood detached and slid up the   
shaft.  
  
"Well?" The subaltern said. "What now?" She bound a cut   
on her amphistaff with a cell-regenerating wraparound of living   
tissue.  
  
"Now the Jedi dies, along with the slaves and everything   
else on this ill-fated planet." He ground his teeth. "I wanted to   
bring her alive to Sang Anor, but this will have to suffice."  
  
"I meant about the projecting tower!" She snapped. "We   
must retake the control room and continue the assault on the   
infidel ships."  
  
"There is a blaster wound in the cognition hood," he   
reminded her, "and neither of us has the skill to regraft a fresh   
one." That wasn't strictly true: he had learned much of shaping   
from his mother, his specialty was in spores and poisons, but he   
could do something as simple as replacing a cognition hood. But   
that would mean facing the Jedi again, and if his encounter with   
her in the swamp hadn't completely disabused him of that notion,   
the confrontation in the control room did. He would never again   
engage a Jedi in direct combat. "Besides, they've undoubtably   
destroyed the dovin basals by now. I would have in their place."  
  
The subaltern looked ready to chew durasteel. "We'll have   
to hope the damage was sufficient then," she said. Nom Anor   
hoped so. They would see when they joined in the space battle.   
He wondered what had happened to Ke'Nas and Wras for a   
moment, then decided he didn't care one way or another.  
  
The door opened into the tower's feeding and launching   
bay, which housed a few coralskippers for use by command   
personal. In the exact center of the circular room rose a coral   
pillar that housed nerve fibers connected to the control room's   
cognition hood. This antennae was the heart of the focusing tower.  
  
They stepped out and Nom Anor saw one empty cradle in   
the line of living fighters. The bay mouth had opened, revealing a   
broad swath of smoky sky. A speck was even now disappearing   
into that sky, probably Wras, as Prefect Ke'Nas was climbing into   
another coralskipper even now.  
  
Ke'Nas turned his permanently-sneering face to them.   
Nom Anor saw his eyes narrow in surprise, then gleam in pleasure   
as he pulled the cognition hood over his head. The cockpit sealed   
and the coralskipper lifted from its spot.  
  
Nom Anor caught Ceis Grasm by the arm as she made for   
another coralskipper. She looked at him, confused, as he pulled   
her to another door and hit the touch-pad. Ke'Nas' coralskipper   
was slowly turning in their direction. Nom Anor leapt down the   
stairs before the door had completely opened, pulling the subaltern   
after him. They landed in the middle of a flight of stairs, Nom   
Anor grabbed the handrail as they landed but they still came close   
to tumbling down. Ceis Grasm began a demand to know what was   
going on, but was interrupted when Ke'Nas opened fire.  
  
Plasma shots collapsed the ceiling and shattered the coral   
stairs. They barely made it to the next floor down in time. Nom   
Anor heard the sounds of firing and coralskippers breaking apart   
from the floor above.  
  
"That traitor!" Ceis Grasm clenched her hands, then looked   
to Nom Anor. "How did you know?"  
  
"I'd be surprised if he (hadn't) made an attempt on us. You   
betrayed him, and he's already tried to have me killed once. You   
know that well."  
  
"But in the middle of a (battle!)" she was outraged,   
understandably so, but Nom Anor only shook his head. She was a   
warrior, he reminded himself, not an intendant. Yun Harla taught   
her sect to (never) waste a good opportunity to rid yourself of a   
foe.  
  
He looked out a clear window membrane and saw only a   
dark sea of smoke a few meters below. "Come on." He ran down   
the floor's central hallway, past the pillar that dominated its center,   
toward another flight of stairs. "We need to get to ground level."  
  
"Yes," her whole face shone, "we can still die in battle,   
offering the lives of the infidels to Yun Yammka."  
  
"No, we can save ourselves and fight again."  
  
"But how?" Ceis Grasm frowned. "Those were the last   
coralskippers, and soon this world will die."  
  
"I know another way." Now he hoped Ke'Nas survived the   
battle, Nom Anor would take great pleasure in personally   
eviscerating him.  
  
***************************************************  
The yammosk knew the instant the projector ceased   
functioning, half a second later so did Sang Anor.  
  
The Executor felt the ice-cold hand of Yun Schaakan, the   
god of death, clutch his heart. The creatures of the planetary base   
had just informed him of the slave attack, and now he could get no   
communication at all from the seed world. The Jedi had struck,   
just as his son had predicted, and apparently she had gotten the   
better of Nom Anor.  
  
His son, Lyrra's son, might be dead even now. He clenched   
his shell-covered forearm, his talons scored the vonduun surface.   
Beside him, the yammosk blinked its many eyes rapidly at its   
Partner's distraction.  
  
Sang Anor's distress redoubled when the worldship's   
sensors told him the Sacrifice Protocol had been initiated. If Nom   
Anor was alive, his chances of escaping the doomed seed world   
were all but nonexistent.  
  
The yammosk's mind prodded at his. The Executor's fears   
were interfering with their link, and with the coordination of their   
forces. Sang Anor called on all his training and submerged his   
own will with that of the yammosk.  
  
Sang Anor (became) the worldship, his body was an ovoid   
of yorrick coral thousands of miles across, he had countless eyes   
and ears across the system, dovin basals to propel and shield him,   
plasma cannons and missiles to destroy his foes.  
  
But more, he was every coralskipper and pilot therein, he   
was every dovin basal and missile in every asteroid. He was the   
smallest grutchin in the fleet. They were the cells that made up his   
body, the worldship's rickyam was the brain, and Sang Anor and   
the yammosk were its mind and will. Every Yuuzhan Vong   
creature was a part of the link, they were all one glorious and   
terrible creature, all of them working together toward a common   
goal: to destroy these infidels, these lifeless outsiders who attacked   
them, who attacked (him), who threatened them all with their   
horrible (other)-ness.  
  
In the face of all this immensity, the fears and worries of   
one individual were meaningless. Sang Anor permitted his mind   
to dwell on Nom Anor for one more brief moment before turning   
his will back to the battle.  
  
(I taught him well,) he told himself, (he knows how to   
survive.)  
  
*******************************************************  
Vergere prodded a dovin basal with her toe and peered at   
the spiky, heart-shaped creature. Like its sibling, it was silent.   
Thrawn would have no trouble from the planet itself during the   
remainder of the battle.  
  
"The Grand Admiral will not forget this," Stent said from   
behind her. "You have done the Empire a great service."  
  
(Please, don't rub salt in my wounds,) she thought grimly.   
"The Nesz did more than I," she replied instead. (And they saved   
you as well.)  
  
"Of course, and once the Yuuzhan Vong are defeated I'm   
certain the Admiral will make every attempt to relocate the entire   
population before he razes this world."  
  
"Perhaps he will see no need to raze the planet at all," said   
Vergere, testing the waters. It would do no good at all to move the   
Nesz alone: they needed the Eternals and the Eternals needed the   
planet.  
  
She surveyed the chamber as she waited for Stent's   
response. The display still showed the space battle. Thrawn had   
taken loses, inflicted damage in turn, and was pushing his way   
toward the worldship. A desk hai destroyed another capital ship,   
and two frigates were swarmed by asteroids, spent of missiles and   
attacking with nothing but their own mass, but the firepower of the   
Star Destroyers, supported by numerous smaller vessels and a   
number of Chiss ships, were winning through.  
  
Vergere wondered about those Chiss battleships. How   
could Thrawn have convinced the traditional and insular Chiss   
military to join him in a pre-emptive strike outside their boarders?   
Perhaps Stent had an idea.  
  
Abruptly, Vergere realized the Chiss hadn't answered her   
earlier question. The Fosh turned and didn't see him.  
  
"Stent?" She called. Frowning, she left the control   
chamber. She didn't see him in the viewing chamber, nor the   
hallway beyond. The mental suggestion was so subtle she wasn't   
aware someone else was guiding her footsteps until she was out   
the tower door.  
  
Vergere stopped and shook off the compulsion. "What-?"   
She looked about in confusion: the remaining Nesz were sitting   
around the base, looking at nothing in particular. As for Stent and   
the rest of the Imperials; they were running away, toward the edge   
of the blank area that marked the Yuuzhan Vong presence in the   
Force.  
  
She found her voice. "What is going on?"  
  
Oin stepped into her field of vision. The Nesz wore a   
broad bandolier of shed skin, the kind she had seen him wear when   
he first stowed away on her craft a lifetime ago. A blaster pistol   
hung at his side on a borrowed weapons belt. He looked at her   
sadly. "I'm sorry, Vergere."  
  
Vergere narrowed her violet eyes. "I'll ask this again," she   
said softly, dangerously, "what goes on?" She did not look at Oin   
as she spoke: she wasn't asking (him).  
  
Dra appeared before her, his shifting image hovering and   
transparent. Vergere could feel the effort he was expending to   
reveal himself in this Force-empty place: the Eternal's reserves   
were exhausted by now and he had to draw on the life energy of   
Oin, the other Nesz, even Vergere, just to sustain himself.  
  
"We thank you," said the voice inside her mind, "and now   
we must ask yet another favor."  
  
"Where are Stent and the other Imperials going?" She   
demanded. "And what have you done to the Nesz?"  
  
"We have influenced the Imperials, yes, regrettably. The   
aliens are making for the edge of the invaders' settlement. They   
might have a chance at survival then, and there is no need for them   
to die."  
  
"I've deactivated all the traps the Vong had set up around   
their base," Oin put in, "the controls were in the tower. There's no   
danger to them."  
  
"What is this talk of dying?" Vergere took a step toward   
the Eternal's wavering image, and terror crept upon her on   
arachnid's legs. She suddenly remembered Nom Anor's parting   
words, "you have won nothing...your victory is dust," at the time   
she had thought he'd meant Sang Anor would win against the   
Imperials and slaughter the Nesz in retaliation, but now his words   
took on a more ominous meaning. "We fought so hard to give your   
people a chance to live in peace."  
  
She felt the ground shudder beneath her, warned by some   
premonition she spun just in time to see hundreds of missiles   
launch from the coral fields in the distance. Most sped away in all   
directions, trailing black smoke, but a good fifty of them simply   
shot straight up.  
  
"A sacrifice protocol," she breathed. Vergere knew of such   
things: when the Yuuzhan Vong were driven from a world they'd   
claimed as their own they did not allow the victors any profit from   
their conquest. The material the missiles spread would poison   
every living thing on the planet, while the fifty traveling straight   
upward would fall back down and explode, obliterating the base   
itself.  
  
Her mind raced, searching for an escape, seconds later she   
had found one.  
  
"Tell them to move into the tower," she said to Dra and   
Oin, "I know a way to protect them."  
  
"No." The Eternal shook his head slowly. Oin made a   
high, keening sound of mourning.  
  
"No." Vergere repeated stupidly. In the distance, the   
Imperials had almost made it to the edge of the base. They might   
get away yet. "What are you talking about?" She asked in a   
clipped, precise voice. Something inside her wanted to wail the   
question, but a Jedi was not ruled by her emotions.  
  
"We are sorry, Vergere, but we have deceived you." Dra   
said. "We lied about our plans, and our intents. You see, from the   
very beginning we knew there was no chance of survival for us."  
  
"But there is, we can-"  
  
"We have seen the future, Jedi, and there is none for us."  
  
Vergere narrowed her eyes, the missiles streaked skyward.   
"A wise Jedi I knew had a saying: always in motion is the future.   
You cannot be certain of your fate. Free the Nesz from whatever   
compulsion you've lain on them and let them come inside."  
  
"But we do know, Jedi. We have gazed upon all the paths   
to the future, and we have done nothing to our young but share our   
own knowledge with them." Dra's shifting face was solemn, the   
ranks of Nesz behind him nuzzled one another and twined their   
necks in a final embrace. Many trained their eyes at the missiles,   
measuring their last moments in these lives.  
  
Vergere might have said more, but Dra overrode her.   
"There is no time to argue," he gestured with a transparent hand,   
"behold."  
  
The Jedi's vision swam out of focus, then she was no   
longer looking at objects of mass, but at the life-energy they   
projected into the Force. Then the view changed, and she saw not   
what those beings were doing, but what they (would) do. She saw   
how their actions rippled through the Force, and all the possible   
effects those acts might have, and all the possible effects of those   
effects. All the paths stretched out before her like tangled yarn,   
each one leading to a different future.  
  
Vergere glimpsed futures where Palpatine ruled the galaxy   
for a thousand years of darkness, she saw Sang Anor remaking the   
all the stars in his own image, she saw Darth Vader ruling the   
Empire, or Thrawn himself on the Emperor's throne. Most terrible   
of all, she saw the young man who had comforted Master Yoda,   
now with the tattoos and burning red blade of a Sith.  
  
But she saw other, better futures, all focusing around that   
same human. Vergere saw him years older, with a red-haired   
female and an infant male who shone like a star in the Force. She   
saw a woman with features similar to his, a sibling no doubt. With   
her stood a tall human with lopsided grin that promised mischief.   
She saw three young humans, male and female twins wielding   
lightsabers. The third was a dark-haired male with a shadow of   
pain and tragedy over him. This family, and she somehow knew it   
was a family, would change history. They would be a light to   
shine bright against the darkness.  
  
But in none of those futures, not one, did the Nesz have a   
place.  
  
(There is a way, though,) Dra's voice echoed in her skull.   
(By following our first plan). More of the Eternals' thoughts came   
into focus. Vergere saw Oin's bandolier, packed with the seeds of   
bora trees, trees that altered the Force to allow the Eternals to   
exist.  
  
(Oin must find a world like this one, far from any nation,   
warlord or trade route and of no interest to the rest of the galaxy.   
A world with no intelligent life. There he must plant those seeds).  
  
(We Eternals will gather what energy we have and...sleep,   
there is no other word for it...until the Force of our new world has   
altered enough to call us back to puissance. Then, perhaps, we   
may attune ourselves to some unevolved life form).  
  
(You mean supplant some species' life-energy with your   
own). Vergere's thought-voice was cold and grim. Body stealing   
was the greatest sin any being could commit against another, the   
very incarnation of the dark side.  
  
(No), Dra answered firmly, (we will not supplant their   
souls, but join ours to them. First we will have to...unmake   
ourselves, discard our sentience, our past memories, all that we   
are. Only then could we make the meld and thus begin our life-  
cycle again).  
  
(Then you would be only animal spirits).  
  
(For a few thousand years, perhaps, until our bodies evolve   
into something that can accommodate more. Then we will   
remember what we were, but we are nothing if not patient).  
  
(But you wont be the same), Vergere said. (You will not   
see the world as you do now. You will have different ways,   
different feelings. The Nesz will never again exist).  
  
(We ceased to exist the moment the first Yuuzhan Vong set   
foot on our world. There was a time when we did not know hate,   
when we had no words for murder or war. The Nesz were a   
beautiful dream, Jedi, it cannot stand against the reality of this   
harsh galaxy).  
  
She became aware of Oin's presence. (And you knew   
about this)? She could not say for certain if she asked with her   
voice or her mind.  
  
(For a long, long time), Oin replied.  
  
(Now go, Jedi), Dra bade the vision withdraw, (save   
yourself while there is yet time. We beg that you project Oin and   
see him safely to a suitable world. He carries our future with him).  
  
The vision and the Eternal both vanished, leaving Vergere   
to stare at the smokey sky and the trails of death bleeding from the   
missiles. She turned stricken eyes to the Nesz, so few of them, but   
gathered all together like this there seemed to be multitudes of   
them. Surely there were enough of them for a breeding pool, to   
make new generations of Nesz.  
  
They were dead. They might be moving and breathing   
right now, but they were still dead. Vergere understood that now.   
She turned and hurried inside the tower, leaving Oin to say   
whatever farewells he could before following.  
  
*********************************************  
  
Beneath his cognition hood, Ke'Nas' sneer was quite   
genuine and quite satisfied as he unleashed another volley at the   
stairwell, then turned to the coralskippers themselves. On the off-  
chance the traitor and the (feenir) had survived, they would have   
no way off the doomed seed world. Coralskippers shattered and   
bled under his assault.  
  
Finally, he bade his own craft speed through the hanger   
mouth. He flew into the smoke-black sky, using the fighter's dovin   
basals to repel the ground below. When he was close enough, he   
would command it to grasp a body beyond the world and pull the   
fighter free of the former seed world's gravity.  
  
In spite of all the troubles he'd faced, Ke'Nas felt like   
celebrating: he had no doubt the Yuuzhan Vong would crush the   
weak infidels, but Sang Anor would not claim the victory. Not   
once Ke'Nas took part in the fight. More, he intended to challenge   
the Executor the instant the battle ended, he even had his pretext   
worked out. He could use the loss of the seed world against Sang   
Anor as well as the premature revelation of the Yuuzhan Vongs'   
existence to the Empire and the time and effort he'd wasted with   
plagues and stratagems instead of resorting to direct combat.  
  
Now above the smoke, he saw acid-loaded missiles   
streaking away from all sides of the base. Wonderful, the   
sacrifices would please the gods, they would give him luck against   
Sang Anor and bless his reign as Executor. He licked his lips,   
when the great jihad came he would be well rewarded. High   
Prefect of the Unknown Regions, perhaps: these sectors were wild,   
he would be given a free hand in their taming. Ke'Nas could have   
his own little kingdom out here, under the supreme overlord of   
course.  
  
The missile tasked with destroying the base itself finished   
their upward journey and streaked down, so fast he didn't see them   
and they left no trails, like the other missiles, which made them   
easy to miss.  
  
Their effects were plain enough: explosions tore through   
the Yuuzhan Vong structures. In the blink of an eye coral melted,   
immature villips evaporated, amphistaffs and other weaponry   
turned to ash and flew in the burning wind. The Yuuzhan Vong   
had completely obliterated their presence from this world, as the   
other missiles would now erase the native life.  
  
Ke'Nas was continuing his trek skyward away from this   
planet that had been so unlucky to him when the column of smoke   
withdrew from the base. The black pillar was now directly in front   
of him!  
  
The prefect swerved his coralskipper to avoid flying into   
the smoke, but the column, an ink-black titan, twisted to place its   
body in his path. Ke'Nas banked left, right, but the smoke moved   
in serpentine patterns, cutting him off. Then the top of the column   
dipped into view, and Ke'Nas felt icy talons dig into his heart.  
  
The smoke had taken on a shape, and despite the massive   
size and onyx shading it was one Ke'Nas recognized immediately   
as a native slave's head. Its eyes were windows into oblivion and   
its jaws gaped wide enough to swallow ten coralskippers whole.  
  
At that moment, Ke'Nas felt fear greater than any he had   
ever known. Consumed by panic, he banked his coralskipper and   
swerved, then shot off in the opposite direction. He didn't care   
where he was headed, so long as it was away from that demon-  
thing behind him.  
  
As he shot back over the base he saw the top of the   
focusing tower poking through the clouds and a small part of him   
that could still reason wondered how this could be, when the tower   
should have been leveled in the explosion with all the other   
Yuuzhan Vong structures.  
  
Ke'Nas didn't have the inclination to wonder about this, as   
a glance over his shoulder showed the great, gaping jaws of the   
smoke-beast rushing toward him like an endless black tunnel, and   
before he could think to move they swept over his fighter. If he'd   
known fear before, it was nothing compared to the moment when   
the creature swallowed him. Ke'Nas became a wild thing, he   
made his coralskipper dart and fly and zig zag in any direction and   
every direction, trying to break through to the sky.  
  
But no matter which way he turned the smoke-demon   
turned with him, so that he was unable to move out of its body.   
Soon he lost all sense of direction and was unable even to tell up   
from down. Had he been in his right mind it would have occurred   
to him to simply have his dovin basals find and repel the ground   
below him. Eventually he would have gone so high up the smoke   
could not follow. But fear was better than reason at making itself   
heard.  
  
In any case, it was now too late for Ke'Nas.  
  
*******************************************************  
When the missiles fell and exploded, slaying all the   
remaining Nesz save one, there was a massive influx of new   
Eternals into the Force. These beings were not spent and weary,   
like Dra and the others, and being so recently alive they were   
assaulted by the memories of their former lives. They were   
powerful, they were confused, they were angry.  
  
Normally, a newborn Eternal would work through these   
feeling by shaping water into some expression of them. These   
Eternals found a more practical use for their rage when they saw a   
blank space the size of a coralskipper departing the focusing tower.  
  
As one, they seized control of the smoke-column from their   
elders and shaped it with their collective will.  
  
They also sensed TIE fighters, or at least the life-force of   
the Imperials piloting them, nearby and few Eternals quickly   
projected themselves through the Force into the Chiss and human   
minds. The smoke-dragon might be terrifying, but ultimately it   
could do no harm to a coralskipper and the Eternals had no   
intention of letting this invader escape the world it had helped ruin.  
  
***********************************************  
The TIE fighters Thrawn had sent to destroy the focusing   
tower fought in the upper atmosphere with the coralskippers Sang   
Anor had dispatched to stop them. While Interceptors pitted their   
superior speed against the coralskippers' plasma balls and   
projectiles, three TIE Advanced fighters broke away from the fight   
and sped down to complete their mission. Missiles primed and   
ready, they shot across the sky toward the spire of yorrick coral.  
  
Oddly, while they flew the sensors on their TIE fighters   
told them that the plantlife in the swamp was...dissolving, for lack   
of a better term, and what they saw of the Yuuzhan Vong base   
itself defied description.  
  
Aside from the unbroken tower the settlement was   
completely devastated. Nothing but scorched earth remained of   
the life that had been shaped there. And above the ruins they saw   
something strange and terrible: a vast, coiled darkness, more like a   
serpent than anything else, that twisted and writhed as if being   
consumed by a painful poison. Great jaws openned and it seemed   
to the pilots that the beast screamed, a sound full of anger and pain   
and loss that the pilots didn't hear with their ears, but with their   
(souls).  
  
At that moment they would have broken formation and   
fled, heedless and will no direction. They were loyal to Thrawn   
and to their fellows fighting above, but all their training and the   
strength of their orders could not stand against the thing before   
them, for it seemed to combine the spirits of all who have lived   
and suffered and died under the Yuuzhan Vong. And in a matter   
of speaking that was precisely what the smoke-creature was. The   
pilots were on the brink of abandoning their mission and leaving   
the Star Destroyers above to be destroyed, so they would suppose,   
by the intact tower when the Eternals found them.  
  
It was as though an electic current ran through them, that   
was the only way to describe the shock of having wills other than   
their own intruding in their minds. While the pilots' minds   
recoiled in shock their bodies went rigid from the impulses the   
strange minds sent down their nerves. The Eternals skimmed   
through the pilots' memories and soon found the information they   
sought.  
  
To the terror of the pilots, they flew their fighters straight at   
the smoke-beast. They saw their hands move to the firing controls   
and depress the missile controls. Six torpedoes flew from the   
fighters to enter at a point in the serpent's upper midsection and   
Ke'Nas coralskipper.  
  
Four of the missiles flew wide and missed, one clipped the   
coral fighter, sending it into a spin, and another struck the rear   
underside. Half the ship dissolved and the rest, including the   
cockpit, fell in an uncontrollable dive to the ground. Prefect   
Ke'Nas' last sight was that of the spinning ground rushing up to   
smash him.  
  
The smoke demon glared at the coralskipper remains and   
bared its teeth in a satisfied snarl. Then it looked beyond, at the   
barren, ash-covered ground and smoke-stained sky. The serpent   
seemed to sigh. It reared up an the pilots heard a high, keening   
sound that seemed to vibrate their bones even as the mental   
intruders abandoned control of their bodies. The two humans felt   
tears blur their eyes and the Chiss felt something equal to his   
sorrow when he'd learned about Homeworld. The smoke demon   
wavered and dispersed into the air.  
  
The TIE fighters fled.  
  
*********************************************  
Vergere stepped out of the focusing tower and beheld her   
vision come true. There was nothing but ruin and destruction as   
far as she could see, clouds of smoke darkened the sky and the   
blackened bones of Nesz bodies were strewn across the grounds.   
Oin had left the tower before her and stood in the middle of all this   
death, and when he turned to face her she saw in his eyes the same   
pain he had carried in her dream-vision.  
  
"I can't feel them anymore," he whispered. "Not my   
people, not the Eternals, none of them. I could always sense them,   
Vergere, from the day I was born. I even felt them when I stood on   
those other worlds, faintly, but I felt them." He looked at the   
bodies. "I'm alone."  
  
"They're not gone," Vergere said, "I can sense the Eternals:   
they gathered all the energy they could, and now they sleep." She   
felt the wind on her feathers. "They've made cocoons of life   
energy around themselves, like Nesz hatchlings. They're   
waiting...somewhere else. Not here, not in space, but somewhere."   
She thought it over. "In the Force itself perhaps, or in some other   
plane of existence joined to this one by the Force the way a layer   
of frosting joins two cakes."  
  
"They're waiting for me to find them their new home." Oin   
clutched his bandolier of seed-packets protectively.  
  
"Come on, Oin." She waved him back into the tower.   
"We've work yet to do."  
  
She had used the power of its dovin basals to protect the   
tower from devestation. It had been easy enough for her to find a   
spare cognitian hood and graft it onto the damaged one's place: she   
had seen Lyrra Anor do such things countless times. Now all they   
needed was transport off this planet.  
  
Fosh and Nesz hurried up flights of stairs until they came to   
the wrecked area leading to the launch bay, where the flight of   
stairs ended in a jagged break. Vergere leapt the distance up to the   
doorway, Oin gripped the rough surface of the coral wall with the   
claws on his hands and feet and climbed to the door.  
  
"What happened here?" Vergere looked around the bay and   
felt her heart sink. The coralskippers she'd intented to use were   
wrecked, destroyed by plasmafire it seemed. She saw two   
coralskipper slots were empty, could Nom Anor have guessed her   
intent and destroyed the only means of escape before fleeing? It   
seemed a likly enough explanation.  
  
"Look for a usable coralskipper," she started searching   
through the wrecks, tossing pieces of coral away as she looked for   
funcioning dovin basals.  
  
"How is this one?" Oin indicated the coralskipper closest   
to a wall. It was covered in debris and its sides were badly scored   
by plasma, but when Vergere brushed away coral chunks she saw   
the dovin basals were undamaged.  
  
"The Force is with us," she sighed in relief. If Nom Anor   
had done this, he had been unusually careless in missing the   
fighter. "We'll need to wear ooglith cloakers and gnulliths, but we   
should be able to make this work."  
  
"We should wait until the battle dies down before trying to   
flee," Oin suggested.  
  
The Jedi shook her head. "We're not going to leave this   
system, not yet. There is somewhere else we must first go."  
  
Oin blinked in confusion. "Where?"  
  
"The (Long Reach of Death)."  
  
"Are you mad?" Oin seemed to gag on his own horror.   
"That's insane, you're making some kind of joke."  
  
"No, I'm not. If it were possible I would leave you here, it's   
too dangerous for anyone but a Jedi, but I can think of no place for   
you that's even close to safe except at my side." She opened the   
cockpit and inspected the controls.  
  
"But the seeds could be destroyed, and my people with   
them." Oin's voice was low with anger.  
  
"Yes they could," was Vergere's reply, "but there is more at   
stake here than your race. The Eternals showed me the future, but   
I have seen deeper than they intended. Perhaps as deep as   
Thracia's shade itself when my old Master pointed me on the right   
path. Thrawn is going to lose this battle unless I intervene, and if   
Thrawn is defeated then Sang Anor may well conquer the galaxy   
one day."  
  
"And what if he does?" Oin snarled. "Space is vast, my   
people can be safe on our new world for thousands of years,   
perhaps forever."  
  
Vergere felt the urge to strike her friend. She had to   
remind herself that he was a Nesz: he would fight courageously for   
his own people, but the battle above wasn?t his fight. ?I understand   
how you feel.? She searched the interior of the coralskipper and   
soon found the proper compartment. ?You have no reason to care   
for the welfare of the greater galaxy, but I must.?  
  
"Why?" Oin demanded. "The Imperials wont give you any   
thanks, they would probably kill you at their first opportunity, and   
the rest of this galaxy is no different," he was remembering the   
cruelty, greed and violence he'd seen among the stars.  
  
"I have no choice. I'm a Jedi, and I will feel all the beings   
Sang Anor tortures and enslaves if he is allowed to do as he   
pleases." She pulled two ooglith cloakers and two villips from the   
compartment. "And do not be so quick to judge everyone and   
everything that isn't you. The Nesz have lived in a paradise until   
recently. You were isolated from the cares and hardships the rest   
of us have to face and you (knew) all those around you were   
friends and meant you only good. It's easy to be virtuous in a   
situation like that. You may not believe it, but there is good on   
those other worlds as well as evil. Beings can be kind to one   
another, and generous, without the group-sense the Nesz share."   
Vergere paused. "In fact, that occasional kindness can be more   
beautiful than your idylic lives: they act out of their own free will,   
not a compulsion."  
  
Oin was silent, thinking perhaps of how quickly his own   
people had given in to hate when oppressed by the Yuuzhan Vong,   
and of how bravely those Imperials fought for their loved ones   
back home.  
  
"But it's hopeless," he pleaded. "We will never get near the   
worldship, and even if we succeed, what can we do then but die?"  
  
"We will see, Oin." She tossed him a gnullith. "We will   
see." 


	16. chapter sixteen

Chapter Fifteen  
  
The Imperator took another hit, but a glance at the   
schematic told Thrawn the damage was negligible. Blasterfire and   
charric bolts vanished before they could touch a wall of shielding   
rocks. Thrawn ordered a swarm of TIE fighters out to destroy the   
falling line of defense and the fast-flying fighters were met by   
missiles and grutchin hoards. A yorrick coral battleship broke   
apart under a barrage from five Chiss vessels, but two were   
destroyed in turn by desk hai, which sped away before the other   
ships could return fire, shielded by asteroids. The dovin basal-  
equipped rocks locked on a collision course with the Chiss ships,   
so they had to devote their fire to destroying them rather than the   
planet killers.  
  
Thrawn had to marvel at the tactics he faced: the Yuuzhan   
Vong were incredibly coordinated, the entire fleet seemed to   
function in perfect concert, adapting to new situations and strategy   
with the efficiency of white blood cells fighting off a disease. It   
must be the yammosk, what the Jedi called a war coordinator, that   
made this harmonic fighting possible. If he survived this, Thrawn   
intended to look for a coordinator of his own. The Jedi could   
touch the minds of other beings, perhaps a Force-user was what he   
needed. In fact, Thrawn had long suspected the Emperor   
employed just such a method in directing the Imperial fleet.  
  
The asteroids continued to fall back, but Thrawn was not   
deceived into thinking victory imminent: Sang Anor?s intent had   
been to thin the Imperial fleet before they faced the firepower of   
his worldship, and it had succeeded. Winning against the (Long   
Reach)?s formidable weaponry would be difficult, maybe even   
impossible.  
  
At least the planet-based weapon seems to have been   
destroyed in the massive explosions the fleet had detected in the   
enemy base. He had heard nothing to confirm this, though, either   
from the TIE fighters or Beyin's landing force.  
  
Something else was also bothering him, something to do   
with Raine, his new phalanx commander. Thrawn sensed   
something strange about her, the commander's behavior and   
reactions to situations were just...odd. She was concealing   
something, Thrawn sensed, some secret that either involved him or   
was something he would take in interest in, but he couldn't figure   
out what.  
  
Briefly, he wondered if Vraet ever had any luck   
outguessing this particular female. Personally, he doubted it.  
  
Vraet...  
  
Strange, to think of his son as if he were still alive, even for   
a moment there. During all his battles he had fought, against   
warlords, pirates, Ssi-Ruuk, the Vong themselves, he had held his   
image of his Homeworld, wife and child in him mind. He had   
fought against the chaos so they wouldn't have to be touched by it.   
He had failed.  
  
Now there was nothing left to fight for, nothing but   
Palpatine's dream of order. And his own revenge.  
  
************************************************  
Drash huddled behind a wall of boxes, listening to the   
sounds of searching on the upper floors. He glanced and Vlu,   
leaning dejectedly against a wall. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry   
for what I said," he offered. He felt like a fool, words meant   
nothing: Frae had a great many words in him, so did Thrawn and   
the Emperor's propagandists. So did the Vong. None of those   
words were worth more than the breaths of air that carried them. It   
was action that mattered. Action held the only truth.  
  
He had learned that long ago.  
  
"I'll be leaving you soon," Vlu said into the silence.  
  
Drash smirked. "Of course you will. I'm glad you finally   
saw how you're wasting your time." He made his tone light, but he   
felt sick. The Eternal was giving up on him, now Drash would be   
left alone in this terrible place.  
  
"I don't leave by choice, but because I must," the Eternal   
faded a little more. "My people are gone, I can no longer feel   
them. They have left this plane to await a better time, but I cannot   
follow. I cannot share in their hope."  
  
"What are you going on about?" Drash whispered. This   
was a place for whispers and soft footsteps.  
  
Vlu explained the Eternals' plan to Drash. "They've   
gathered energy from our world to live on while they wait, but I   
am away from the planet and my reserves are nearly gone. I could   
not survive a journey back to the planet, and even if I could the life   
there is being destroyed as we speak. I can feel it." Vlu's voice   
grew thin, the shade concentrated and Drash heard him clearly   
again. "We Eternals must draw on life-energy produced on our   
homeworld to exist, when mine are spent I will have no hold on   
this plane. I will go...beyond, to that place where all beings go   
when their lives end."  
  
"Tell me about it."  
  
"I can't," Vlu said. "I don't know myself: none who go   
there have ever returned."  
  
Then Vlu had given up his chance to live, at least after a   
fashion, to stay with Drash. To try and help him when the pilot   
couldn't even help himself. Or maybe he just wouldn't help   
himself.  
  
(I don't want this), Drash thought, (I didn't ask for this. It's   
too much responsibility, because after all he's done for me I (can't)   
just give up). And it would be so easy to give up, to just hide and   
hope the hunter passed over him, even while knowing he wouldn't.   
Drash had never been afraid to die, but he was terrified of what   
was behind that door.  
  
"It's happening," Vlu said. "I can feel myself fading, like   
water draining out of a bucket." The Eternal quivered and held   
himself. The ancient being looked at him with the eyes of a child.   
"I'm so afraid, Drash."  
  
Without being aware of it, Drash had transferred himself   
across the room with a thought. Now he was beside Vlu, and his   
hand tentatively touched the transparent reptilian shoulder.  
  
Vlu wrapped his arms around Drash and the Imperial   
fought the urge to shove him away. The closeness, the contact,   
made him feel like he was suffocating. The quivering shape felt   
solid, and yet fluid at the same time. Malleable. Like a mold of   
rubber. He felt the Eternal quivering as he held onto Drash, onto   
this plane of existence.  
  
"Ah," Drash muttered just to break the silence, "um, I've   
known a lot of pilots in the Empire, from a lot of different planets.   
Sometimes they would, you know, talk about what happens when   
you die." Religion was something of a taboo in the Empire:   
Palpatine had suppressed most faiths during his reign, desiring that   
his people would look to no higher power than the Emperor   
himself, but climbing into a cockpit and knowing you might not   
climb out again, especially given the shoddy design of standard   
Imperial fighters, put some folks in a spiritual mood. Drash had   
never given the matter much consideration.  
  
"What did they believe?" Vlu whispered, his voice so small   
it could barely be heard.  
  
"Different things, different faiths, but a lot of boiled down   
to you getting some kind of reward if you were good. Living in   
some kind of paradise with all your dead friends and relatives, that   
sort of thing." It took an effort for Drash to cast his mind back to   
those days: it was so hard thinking about the past when he lived   
entirely in the moment. "The arguments came from talking about   
who ran the place and what you had to do to get in.  
  
"Some of them said doing good deeds was enough, but   
others said if you were good, really good, I mean good (inside),   
then that was all it took." He gnawed his lower lip, remembering.   
During Drash's first year as a TIE pilot there'd been another recruit   
who'd talked about his people's beliefs, until an officer had   
overheard and notified COMPNOR. The dumb kid had been   
hauled off to reeducation. None of the other pilots would've   
turned him in: pilots who depend on their wingmen to live develop   
loyalties to each other.  
  
"Like, if you were a good person then it didn't matter what   
you did. Since a good soul lead to good works then they take it for   
granted you did your best."  
  
"Sounds nice," he was holding onto smoke now. Pale,   
formless mist. "Is that what you believe?"  
  
"No," was his immediate reply, "that wasn't what Frae   
taught. He said life was all about being testing and proving   
yourself worthy of transcendence. From the day you're born the   
cosmos heaps trials on you. Suffer through it and you get to   
somewhere better." From the deep pits of his mind he heard Frae's   
gentle voice, telling the children how much he loved them all as   
they began their daily ordeals.  
  
Drash licked his lips. "He talked a lot about transcendence   
too: it was in the middle of his whole religion."  
  
"Tell me about it." Vlu huddled against him.  
  
"If you're good as something and you do it so well you lose   
yourself in it, then your whole identity changes. He called that a   
moment of perfection. Get enough of those and you're soul's   
worth more in the afterlife. They've got a ratings system there, I   
guess." Drash shrugged. "I don't know, I've been looking my   
whole life and I-"  
  
He broke off.  
  
"So that's why you seek your own destruction so   
relentlessly," Vlu said, "Frae told you this life held nothing but   
pain, but that there was a better one for the worthy after death."  
  
"Shut up." Drash snapped. He tried to push the shape away   
and stand, but his hands sank right into the unresisting mist. "Get   
away from me!"  
  
"It was never death you wanted, but a new life. Don't you   
see?"  
  
"Sithspawned liar!" Drash stood and backed away from the   
faintly-glowing mist. "I was supposed to be comforting (you), not   
spilling stuff you could use against me!"  
  
"I'm using nothing against you," the fading Eternal   
countered. "And I already knew most of what you told me. I just   
wanted you to realize it."  
  
"You-" Drash looked at the fading cloud, then snapped his   
mouth shut. "You really are dying, for good this time I mean."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you..." he fell silent, (you used your last moments to   
help me).  
  
"It's time," the light said. "Goodbye Drash. Thank you, for   
trying anyway. I'll soon know for myself what waits beyond that   
final veil. Perhaps we will meet again there, but hopefully not for   
many years yet." The light was so faint, it was almost gone.   
"Remember, the only chains you wear are one you made for   
yourself. You have the key to your prison. You can use it   
anytime."  
  
"No, no wait don't go yet!" Drash reached for the mist.  
  
"You just need to see it..." then the voice was gone, and   
Drash's hand closed on nothing.  
  
There was a crash and the security door suddenly bulged   
inward, as if shot by a projectile cannon. The noise of hunting and   
searching had stopped, and the one who made it waited just   
outside.  
  
Frae had found him.  
  
**************************************************  
The rush of delight and satisfaction made Krelt feel   
decades younger. He'd found his reluctant convert at last.  
  
The provoker held one talon just above the comatose   
human's right temple and the other above his left, neither quite   
touching the skin, while Krelt mapped the paths of his brain in an   
attempt to find just where the human's consciousness had hidden   
itself. The organic instruments had assured him the brain was still   
active. Very active in fact: Drash was having some sort of dream,   
and a vivid one at that.  
  
Like a tracker on a scent, Krelt had followed the electrical   
impulses back to the source, all the while having the provoker send   
small charges into suspected nerve cells: the priest had to be   
careful, he wanted to stimulate Drash back into consciousness, not   
damage him.  
  
And now Krelt had found the center of this mental activity:   
the last bastion of resistance against him. A few small charges   
should bring Drash back to the world of the living, where his   
shaping could finally begin.  
  
*****************************************************  
In the midst of the battle, a lone coralskipper leaving the   
seed world caught Sang Anor's attention. Apparently damaged,   
the fighter?s course would take it to the worldship. Hope flared   
inside him. Was it possible Nom Anor had escaped the destruction   
spreading across the surface? It could be, but there was no villip   
aboard so he couldn't ask. He ordered a dovin basal to take hold of   
the fighter and pull it into a bay for healing and refueling ships.  
  
He hoped his son was aboard. If it was another member of   
the garrison he could make himself useful with the gunnery crews.   
If it was Ke'Nas then the prefect would find nothing but torture   
and death aboard the (Long Reach).  
  
*****************************************************  
The titan's fist bashed against the security door again, but   
that wasn't the way Drash now perceived the assault. In fact, his   
perceptions of everything had changed.  
  
Vlu had done something to him before he died. Or perhaps   
he had simply left something behind. Not memories, exactly, nor   
any part of his fading soul. It was more an understanding. No, an   
(instinct), that was the right term. Or maybe the Eternal had   
simply opened the pilot up to an ability he'd had all along. In any   
case, Drash no longer saw the illusion of a physical world for his   
mind to deal with.  
  
He saw the Force.  
  
He saw it in all it's splendor. The currents of energy arced   
and crashed against one another in conflict or smoothed and ran   
together in serenity. Waves of life energy coiled around one   
another, each current a different shade, indicating a different   
emotion.  
  
But throughout it all there were cords and sinkholes of dark   
energy, radiating anger, resentment and, most of all, fear. The   
sinkholes filled what seemed like deep pits full of secret things,   
and the cords seemed to bind the rest of the energy, or at least   
restrict how it flowed. He felt one of the cords, not with his hand   
for he no longer had 'hands' or any kind of body, but with his   
mind. He quickly drew his will back. This power was wild,   
dangerous, it lashed at everything around it with feral strength.  
  
The most incredible realization came when he saw that for   
all it's complexity the life-energy was, in reality, just a tiny pool   
surrounded by leagues of blank space. It was only then that he   
understood he was not seeing the greater Force, but only that   
energy produced by his own body.  
  
The hunter struck at his defenses again and dark threads of   
pain and fear shot through him. Strangely, he couldn't perceive   
what was making these attacks: only the damage they did and the   
emotions they cause. Emotions that formed into the familiar shape   
of Zesir Frae.  
  
But it was only a phantom devised by his own mind, he saw   
that clearly now. Whatever harmed him wasn't Frae. The old   
madman was dead and unmourned, and Drash Tevock had never   
feared death or enemies in battle. Without a second's hesitation he   
turned his attention back to the dark energy, and seized it.  
  
It was like grasping a hurricane or trying to hold a bolt of   
lightning and use it as a sword. The power raged, it stung, it   
burned, but Drash could tame it. With the strength of his will he   
could control that power, he could make it obey him. This was   
amazing, almost like flying a TIE fighter. Electricity crackled   
through his blood. An inferno burned in his lungs.  
  
Drash woke up.  
  
The light from the lumin bugs shocked his eyes, but his   
pupils adjusted instantly. He saw the burn-scarred priest leaning   
over him first. Krelt's yellow olc'its widened in surprise. Four   
acolytes were with him, and the effigy of Yun Yammka towered   
above.  
  
"Ah," Krelt smiled in satisfaction, "awake sooner than I   
expected. It seems you have finally decided to rush out to your   
pain instead of hiding from it." He glanced at an acolyte. "Bring   
the boiling gel."  
  
Drash didn't pay attention to the priest's words, they might   
as well be the chattering of a lizard monkey. He was entranced by   
a view none of the Vong were able to partake of.  
  
Beyond the nothingness of the worldship a battle was   
raging, and what a battle! Waves of anger and aggression roared   
and clashed, geysers of sudden fear and death plumed up. True, he   
could only sense one side of the fight, but the energy beyond the   
worldship was incredible.   
  
He shifted his view to the dimension of the purely physical   
and tried to stand up. He found a pair of restraining claws locked   
his wrists to the alter he lay on. Child's play. He sent currents of   
dark energy into his arms and tried again, the claws tore free by the   
roots. He grasped each claw with the opposite hand, broke them in   
his fingers and ripped them off his wrists. When Krelt turned his   
attention back to Drash the Imperial had already hopped to the   
floor.  
  
The priest blinked in surprise. "How-?"  
  
Drash killed the closest acolyte before the word was out of   
Krelt's mouth. He stepped past the falling body, it was dead before   
it hit the floor, and backhanded another initiate of the priest caste.   
They seemed to fall in slow motion, Krelt and the other two moved   
like the room was flooded with tree sap, but that was only his   
perceptions. To the Yuuzhan Vong, Drash was a blur of   
movement to fast for their eyes to follow.  
  
The third acolyte actually tried to fight; he stabbed at the   
pilot with his sacrificial coufee. Drash reached out, took the young   
Vong's wrist and broke his arm with a single twist. The Imperial   
pivoted his upper body slightly and flung the acolyte face-first into   
the wall. He bounced off and fell to the floor, but Vong didn't   
register in the Force so Drash couldn't tell if he was unconscious or   
dead.  
  
The fourth was the one Krelt had sent to fetch the boiling   
gel. Throughout the brief fight he had stood still, holding the   
shell-bowl and staring stupidly. Drash took the container away   
from him and broke it over his head; the boiling ooze running   
down his face woke him up a little. To his credit, the acolyte   
threw a punch in Drash's general direction before the pilot hit him   
in the stomach. He doubled up and fell to the floor, curled in a   
fetal position.  
  
Then he turned to Krelt.  
  
"What infidel trickery is this?" The priest demanded.  
  
"No trick," Drash strode toward him, walking neither slow   
nor fast, "just paying a debt."  
  
"You are a fool, infidel. I offer you truth. I offer to give   
your life and death meaning."  
  
"Yeah." Drash reached out and grabbed a fistful of the   
priest's living robe. "A lot of people have said that to me." He   
walked two more steps to the alter and swung Krelt onto the   
surface. The priest was nothing but skin and bones, Drash   
probably could have lifted him without the strength that coursed   
through him. Krelt grasped the pilot's wrist with his skinny fingers   
but didn't come close to breaking his grip.  
  
"The thing is," Drash went on, "I think I've had all the help   
I can stand." An odd creature was perched at the head of the alter.   
Two prongs extruded from its body. Drash thought he could guess   
it's purpose. He pressed a point to either of Krelt's temples. "I   
think from now on I'll try looking for all that stuff on my own."   
The raised knobs on the thing's back looked like controls, trial and   
error should send a good jolt into the priest's brain. "But here's a   
token of my gratitude."  
  
His fingers hovered over the knobs. Outside, the battle   
beckoned. Inside him, another storm raged. The power he held   
screamed and twisted in his grip, wanting nothing but to be given   
free reign, to use Drash to destroy everything around him,   
including Drash himself.  
  
But the power whispered as well as screamed. It whispered   
to Drash, telling him to kill the priest. Kill for his fear of him,   
from his anger at what Krelt had done to him, or just for the sheer   
pleasure of killing. There was something foul about this energy, it   
was like a drug that gave delight as it rotted you from the inside   
out.  
  
Krelt was talking again, but the pilot wasn't listening.   
Drash felt like he was being pulled in different directions. On the   
one hand there was no reason not to waste this old freak, but did he   
really want to? And there was something else, an instinct maybe,   
that told him it was stupid to do anything the dark side wanted.   
Stupid and unhealthy both.  
  
Drash looked at Krelt then, really looked at him, and for   
the first time he didn't see a demon from his past or a ghoul from   
the shadows under a child's bed. He saw a crazy old man.  
  
And that had been all Frae was, too. Maybe he had started   
out with a few decent ideas and good intentions, but that's all he   
was at the end. A sick, crazy old tyrant playing god over some   
gullible people afraid to live their own lives without someone to   
tell them what to do. And over the children unlucky enough to be   
born under his control. A man who though he could help people   
by killing them.  
  
Krelt was looking at him. "Well?" The priest sneered.   
"What are you waiting for? You're mistaken if you think I'll beg,   
so you might as well kill me."  
  
"I'm not going to," Drash opened his hand. Chains seemed   
to break and fall to the floor around him. He felt...he didn't know   
how he felt.  
  
Krelt frowned. "Why not?"  
  
"Because I don't need to," a question deserved an answer.   
"I'm not afraid of you any more," he shrugged. "I don't even hate   
you. You can?t hurt me. You can't do anything to me," Krelt was   
nothing to him now, no different than one of the lumin bugs   
fluttering and glowing above them. No, the bugs were pretty   
things and the priest was a dry, withered husk. He would think of   
a better comparison later. "You've got no power over me."  
  
Krelt reacted as though Drash (had) sent that jolt through   
him. Then he sat up, olc'its glaring daggers at the pilot. His   
mouth worked as he tried to form a response, but Drash saw none   
of this. He was already walking away.  
  
There were important things to be done.  
  
************************************************  
The coralskipper was pulled into a cavern-sized ridge in the   
worldship's surface, into one of many hanger mouths. Three   
shapers, an adept and two initiates, were waiting when the   
coralskipper set down in an empty cradle beside a few newly-  
repaired fighters. They hurried to the damaged ship and pried   
open the cockpit. The crystalline cover slid back and a violet   
blade flared up. Two seconds later three corpses lay around the   
coralskipper. Vergere and Oin climbed out.  
  
"Much the same as I remembered," the Fosh said to herself.   
She shivered, feeling the emptiness around her. She was now cut   
off from the main body of the Force, only able to use the energy   
her own body produced. "I know where to go and the way to get   
there. If the Force is with us I'll soon be finished and gone."  
  
"What do you want me to do?" Oin asked.  
  
"Stay here, conceal yourself and wait. I'll return here for   
you after I've done what I need to do." She started for the   
doorway.  
  
"No," Oin began following her.  
  
"You can't help me," she spun to face him. "It's too   
dangerous." Her mind was full of problems enough as it is: if she   
succeeded in this, there was still something more that needed   
doing, something that would take a lifetime commitment, but at   
the same time she was honor-bound to see Oin safely to a world he   
could prepare for his people. "I'll finish this, then return so we can   
take one of the healthy skips and flee.  
  
"And what if something happens and you can't get back   
here?" Oin challenged. "What about when someone investigates   
this place while you're gone and finds me? You said it yourself,   
the safest place is at your side."  
  
"I can't afford to protect you (and) fight the Yuuzhan   
Vong," Vergere snapped.  
  
"Maybe I'll be the one to protect you."  
  
Vergere grimaced. There was no time to argue, no time at   
all, she might be too late already. "All right then, come on-" she   
turned and saw Drash Tevock standing in the doorway.  
  
"Lt. Tevock?" Her feathers bristled in surprise.  
  
"Hello there," the pilot said as he walked past them and   
headed straight for the coralskippers. Vergere stared. She had   
forgotten about the strange, Force-strong Imperial, and frankly she   
had no idea what to do about him, if she even (could) do anything   
about him: he could actively use the Force now. She had   
perceived it the instant she'd seen him, she had also sensed the   
dark power emanating from him. Drash hadn't fallen to the dark   
side yet, but he was on the brink.  
  
"Where were you?" That was all she could think to ask.  
  
"With a priest," Drash stepped over the dead shapers with   
out seeing them. He selected a healthy, fully-fueled skip and   
hopped into the cockpit, "but I decided I'd worn out my welcome."  
  
Gradually, Vergere began to understand what he was doing.   
"How...how did you learn to touch the Force?"  
  
Drash paused, for the first time something she said made an   
impression on him. "An Eternal taught me," he said softly,   
Vergere felt Oin stiffen beside her, "he called himself Vlu." She   
heard sadness in his voice.  
  
"I knew him," she said in a soothing tone, "he was my   
friend. I'm a Jedi, I know about the Force. I can help you   
understand it. Come out of the fighter and we'll talk." This would   
disrupt her plans, she knew it, and the whole galaxy could well   
depend on a few minutes, but-  
  
"No," Drash settled the cognition hood on his head. "There   
are things I need to do, and I have a feeling there are things you   
need to do. Let's not hold each other up. Maybe there'll be time   
later." The cockpit closed.  
  
"I...I hope so," Vergere murmured. She was letting a Force-  
strong man on the brink of the dark side enter a battle that would   
determine the fate of billions. Mace Windu would have a few   
disapproving words for her. Yoda would probably bash her head   
with his cane. She didn't want to (think) of what Thracia would   
do. But they were gone, and she was all that was left of the Jedi.  
  
The coralskipper lifted off, turned and sped through the   
gravity barrier and out the hanger mouth.  
  
As she watched the situation spin further out of control,   
Vergere never felt less like a Jedi in her life.  
  
*************************************************  
(We have lost).  
  
That was Thrawn's first reaction when the Star Destroyers   
met the first volley from the worldship. The fleet had fought its   
way through the asteroids, but the (Long Reach) finish them.   
Exceptional leadership and training had seen them through the   
gauntlet, and losses that could have been critical were instead   
merely costly, but the diminished fleet just didn't have the numbers   
to take on the worldship's firepower.  
  
He let none of this show, of course, he couldn't let his men   
see him falter.  
  
"Worldship is trying to grab the (Hammerblow) with a   
gravitational anomaly," the tactics officer reported. Parck   
clenched his fists and actually licked his lips once, even after all   
this time Thrawn had to remind himself that such public displays   
of emotion were acceptable by human standards. The Admiral   
himself was perfectly composed, but he felt a chill creep over him.   
If the countermeasures he'd devised failed then the battle would   
be lost this very moment.  
  
Powerful dovin basals seized the Star Destroyer and began   
to strip away her shields while coral missiles converged on the   
capital ship. The (Hammerblow) opened her fighter bays and   
released a hoard of probe droids. Following their programming,   
the small machines sent powerful gravitational pulses into the   
vacuum around the capital ship.  
  
As Thrawn had hoped, the tractor beam lost its hold on the   
Star Destroyer and the conflicting gravity fields confused the   
Missiles' guidance. A volley from the (Hammerblow) and a few   
fighters and supporting ships quickly mopped up the alien   
projectiles.  
  
Thrawn, meanwhile, had focused on the sensor reading of   
the worldship in his tactical display. "Priority instructions for all   
ships," Thrawn said, "target this area." A flick of a switch   
highlighted a region on the worldship's surface. Thrawn deduced   
that particular group of pits and ridges housed the dovin basals   
which had attempted to seized the (Hammerblow), now that the   
gravity-producing organisms were tired out by the effort this spot   
might just be the weak point to insert the wedge.  
  
Thrawn offered a mental prayer to his ancestors and his   
ruined Homeworld. This would be close...  
  
*******************************************************  
Drash flew into the Force and a maelstrom of conflicting   
energy thundered around him, mirroring the chaos in his own soul.   
A thousand forces threatened to tear him apart, but he knew where   
to go. There was only one place where he'd ever known peace: a   
fighter's cockpit. There he ceased to be a mere human troubled by   
human failings and fears, he knew the purity of a single purpose:   
the kill before him, and the one after, and so on. Once again, he   
was the sharp edge of the knife.  
  
His only worry had been that the Vong fighter wouldn't   
respond to him, but the coralskipper was even more incredible   
than he'd imagined. When he donned the cognition hood Drash   
Tevock was no longer a man piloting a fighter: he (was) the   
fighter.  
  
Drash's body was the size of a rebel X-Wing and coated   
with durasteel-hard living armor. Instead of arms and legs he now   
had dovin basals that could propel him at awesome speeds or   
shield him from enemy fire. He had plasma spitters and launchers   
to hurl rocky projectiles, he could 'see' not only visible light but   
electromagnetic fields, gravity wells and heat signatures. He could   
'smell' the chemical trails of ion engines. He felt the cold vacuum   
against his rocky skin and knew it could do him no harm.  
  
The ship's intelligence was like a part of his own mind, and   
Drash sensed it was ready for battle: the fighter was fresh, rested,   
well-fed and fully armed. It was a young fighter, only just grown   
on the seed world. It felt its own youth, health and strength and   
yearned to be out in the fight like an athlete would yearn for a   
good, rough smashball game. It sensed Drash's intentions and   
eagerly put itself at his disposal.  
  
The coralskipper responded to Drash's thoughts as easily as   
his own body. He felt the dovin basal's effort as it shoved away   
from the worldship, the scent of plasma and blasterfire in vacuum   
stung his nostrils. Without hesitation, he picked out his first target:   
a coralskipper flying close to the worldship.  
  
Drash's first shot went a little wide, as he'd intended it to.   
Once he'd gotten the alien pilot's attention he shot a few lethally   
accurate blasts in his direction. Confused by the friendly fire, the   
pilot hesitated for a second before evading and throwing up a void   
to catch the plasma. That second cost his coralskipper it's rear   
dovin basal. Drash sent another volley as he passed below and the   
enemy broke apart.  
  
The human turned his attention to other targets, he was   
lobbing a projectile at a coralskipper's canopy when, as if from a   
great distance away, he heard a voice making what sounded like   
angry demands in the guttural language of the Yuuzhan Vong. The   
coralskipper's villip must have activated and someone in authority   
probably wanted to know what he was doing. Without removing   
the cognition hood, Drash reached toward where he remembered   
the villip was situated. He found the leathery sphere and crushed it   
with one hand.  
  
***************************************************  
Sang Anor grimaced when the tactic of seizing, stripping   
and shooting failed, obviously you couldn't use the same tactic   
twice against Thrawn. He grimaced again when the Imperial   
barrages began to get through the weakened defenses and chip at   
the worldship's outer crust. He commanded the gunners to double   
their efforts and, with no other option, commanded the (Long   
Reach) to rotate.  
  
Rotating would put the injured point out of range, but it   
would also tax the remaining dovin basals. More, the Star   
Destroyers were attacking from three sides, making it necessary to   
defend on three fronts at once.  
  
No matter: the Imperials still didn't have enough ships to   
achieve a victory and the worldship's armament were still barely   
tapped. He commanded all the remaining asteroids to fall on the   
Imperial groups from behind and launched volleys of missiles and   
plasma from the (Long Reach) herself.  
  
He had only just given the order when another disruption   
came to his attention: a coralskipper had apparently gone rogue,   
turned on its comrades and was attacking everyone and everything   
around it. More disturbing, the flight controller reported trying to   
contact the pilot, who destroyed his fighter's villip. She claimed   
she sensed a human mind in the instant of contact.  
  
Sang Anor demanded an explanation and the yammosk   
quickly pieced together some relevant information and gave it to   
the Executor.  
  
The priest, Krelt, had sounded an alarm moments ago,   
saying that his human prisoner, a pilot, had escaped. The internal   
sensors tracked his chemical trail, which lead in the direction of   
the hanger which had held that particular fighter.  
  
Sang Anor rolled his eyes at the incompetence of the   
priests and sent a detail of coralskippers after the rogue.  
  
****************************************************  
Parck winced as three more frigates exploded and winced   
again when a desk hai destroyed another Star Destroyer. Those   
planet-killers were taking a heavy toll on the fleet, and they had   
few enough ships as it is. TIE fighters swarmed on the desk hai,   
but were met by coralskippers, grutchin and shielding rocks.  
  
"Sir, they asteroids are moving to take us from the rear,"   
Commander Veenir reported.  
  
"I see it, Commander," Parck locked his eyes on the tactical   
display, where small red dots swarmed the three fleets.  
  
Thrawn frowned. "There is a disruption in the enemy   
defenses," he said quietly. Parck followed the admiral's gaze and   
saw coralskippers flitting about in confusion over the worldship's   
surface. Thrawn seemed unperturbed by the dwindling fleet,   
though Parck couldn't imagine what he might have under his   
sleeve. The worldship's defenses would soon overwhelm the   
battered fleet.  
  
"Admiral," a cool Chiss voice spoke up, "sensors indicate a   
large number of ships, mechanical ships, have exited hyperspace   
and are on a course for us."  
  
Thrawn turned and raised a brow. "Reinforcements from   
Imperial Center?"  
  
"No sir, they're Chiss vessels. The flagship commander is   
hailing us."  
  
"Put him through," no sooner were the words spoken than a   
hologram of a white-haired Chiss materialized before the admiral.   
It took Parck a moment to recognize him: he no longer wore a   
Syndic's uniform.  
  
"Syndic Taesk," Thrawn inclined his head and greeted him   
warmly, without a sign of surprise. Parck all but gaped in   
astonishment. Incredible! How had Thrawn convinced the Chiss   
to throw in with them? And at this time, when the fleet most   
needed ships? Parck could only stand amazed at his superiors'   
brilliance and planning.  
  
**************************************************  
Thrawn had barely kept his eyes from bulging out of their   
sockets when he heard the news, and Taesk was the (last) person   
he'd expected to show up.  
  
"Syndic Taesk," Thrawn inclined his head and spoke in his   
own language, "from what do I owe the pleasure of your   
company?"  
  
"A desire to do something useful for once in my life,"   
Taesk replied in the Chiss tongue. "And it's not 'Syndic' anymore,"   
he tapped his chest, at the uniform of a phalanx commander he   
now wore, "I abandoned my rank when I abandoned the   
Council's mad plan for war against the Ssi Ruuk, after telling those   
old fools what I truly think of them. I took all of my phalanx who   
wished to accompany me, as well as their families who should be   
requesting asylum at one of your worlds as we speak. My people   
and I are exiles now, we wish to join your phalanx, if we may."  
  
"I am pleased to have you," even in the midst of battle,   
Thrawn was not one to forget his courtesies. "Deploy your ships   
and reinforce the battle-groups, you will receive further orders   
from my phalanx commander onboard the (Sentinel)."  
  
"Thank you, Syndic," there was a flash in the old man's   
eyes that made him look decades younger. The hologram   
disappeared and Thrawn called up an image of Raine so he might   
inform her of the influx of vessels under her command. He could   
barely contain his buoyancy: none of the Chiss ships had the size   
and strength of a Star Destroyer, but with their numbers increased   
Unity Fleet actually had a chance at victory!  
  
**************************************************  
They traveled deep into the worldship, by side-routes that   
would make running into a Yuuzhan Vong unlikely, especially as   
most of them were out in coralskippers or manning plasma turrets.   
The only Vong they saw was a shamed one huddled and asleep in   
a corner, they passed by without waking him.  
  
Eventually they neared the public areas at the center of the   
worldship, also deserted, where Oin saw amazing things: the deep   
pits of maw luur, pulsing, moist processing organs, artfully   
designed temples and a vast pleasure garden with songbirds that   
sang so sweetly the Nesz was struck dumb by the natural   
beauty.  
  
Yet the garden was not a paradise, far from it: dead and   
dying corpses lined the walls and instruments of torture existed   
side-by-side with makers of beautiful things. The birds and beasts   
of the garden were not fed, but hunted and killed one another to   
live. He even saw a beast gnawing on the bones of a Yuuzhan   
Vong child.  
  
"These creatures are mad," he said.  
  
"Don"t dismiss their ways so easily," Vergere said, "there is   
nothing of madness about their ways: everything you see has been   
done by rational minds pursuing definite goals."  
  
"Evil goals," Oin put in.  
  
"Yes, I suppose that's true," they turned down another   
corridor, "Just a little further now, past the menagerie, and we   
should be there."  
  
They walked through a series of large rooms, each one   
containing a few creatures native to this galaxy in a simulated   
environment similar to their native worlds. "The shapers have   
taken a few specimens from each world the (Long Reach) has   
visited in the Unknown Regions," Vergere explained. "The planets   
had no intelligent life, of course, but analyzing these creatures will   
give them an insight into the kinds of life that would best thrive on   
these worlds. That information will prove very useful when they   
begin their conquests: they want to make the most efficient use   
possible of their seed worlds."  
  
"These don't look like laboratories to me," Oin saw a six-  
winged avian perched in a tree and a canine with a long, serpentine   
neck in one enclosure. He looked to another and saw insects   
almost as big as he in a pen that resembled a dry, desert cave.  
  
"The shapers can get more information by observing how   
the creatures behave in their natural environments," Vergere said,   
"the menageries are open to the public, so they also provide some   
entertainment to Yuuzhan Vong on their leisure time." They   
continued walking.  
  
Then a tunnel mouth gaped open before them with arches   
carved in fantastic, hideous shapes on either side. "This is as far as   
you go," Vergere commanded, and this time there was no arguing   
with her.  
  
"Why?" Oin had to ask anyway.  
  
"Because this is something I must face alone," the Jedi said   
quietly. "If I survive, I will return for you."  
  
"And if not?" The last Nesz touched the seed packets   
gently with his claws.  
  
"Then more than your people will die," she unhooked her   
lightsaber, "but there is no other way." She walked into the tunnel   
with a steady, deliberate pace.  
  
"Vergere," the Jedi turned back, "whatever happens..." Oin   
said haltingly, "thank you, for everything. I'm glad to have known   
you," he met her eyes, "and may the Force be with you."  
  
The Jedi was touched, at that moment she wanted to run   
back and embrace the Nesz, but that would only make leaving all   
the more difficult. Steeling herself, not allowing her emotions to   
have the mastery, she merely nodded. "Thank you," she said as she   
turned back to the darkness.  
  
*******************************************************  
Beyin's ground forces encountered no enemy opposition in   
his march on the enemy base, which wasn't to say the trek was   
easy-going: the treacherous swamplands made it impossible to use   
the heavily-armed and armored AT-ATs. The General had to   
made do with repulser-powered hovering vehicles like tanks and   
speeders. He also had the use of AT-ST walkers, lightly armed   
and armored but fast and sure-footed even in the bogs.  
  
The Chiss general commanded a mixed force of Imperial   
and Chiss phalanx ground forces, supported by wings of TIE and   
Chiss fighters overhead. His mission was simple: destroy the   
enemy base, though it seemed the Yuuzhan Vong had made that   
mission unnecessary. According to an advance group of TIE   
fighters the aliens had destroyed their own dwellings first, saving   
Unity Fleet the trouble.  
  
It seemed the aliens had gone even further: if they couldn't   
have this planet, no one could. From his command center aboard a   
beautiful but functional Chiss hovering tank Beyin saw the trees   
withering to dry husks before his eyes. The water had turned into a   
thick, brownish substance and the native beasts were hacking their   
lives away on the dying grass. Sensors indicated the air was   
swiftly becoming toxic and the ground troops had donned   
encounter suits equipped with life-support.  
  
Beyin kept a sharp eye on his troops, alert for any lapse in   
discipline: the TIEs informed him there was still one Vong   
structure standing, a tower in the middle of the ruined base, and   
even though there was no apparent opposition Beyin would never   
permit his men to be careless, especially when it might cost lives:   
he recalled the attack on Coerl's base and the Vongs' use of deadly   
traps. Those dishonorable barbarians wouldn't kill another soldier   
under Beyin's command through ambush or trickery, not if there   
was any way to prevent it.  
  
"Sir, we have a transmition from one of the forward   
scouts," the tank pilot spoke.  
  
"Put it through." The image of the AT-ST's human pilot   
filled a screen.  
  
"General, we have come across a group of fifty humans and   
Chiss, they claim to be TIE pilots; survivors of a strike force the   
Grand Admiral dispatched here earlier," he paused. "They're not   
looking too good, Stent, their commander, says some of them have   
already died from the air toxins."  
  
"You didn't let them onboard?" Beyin demanded quickly:   
there was a good chance this was another Vong trap, and even if   
the pilots were what the seemed and not aliens in masquers there   
was still the chance they carried some Yuuzhan Vong disease or   
weapon implanted in them without their knowledge.  
  
"No sir," the pilot said immediately, "but we tossed out   
some breathing gear and a comm link." The image shifted to a   
camera-eye view from the walker's chin. Beyin saw a large group   
of ragged humans and Chiss passing around several facemasks and   
air tanks. They were huddled together under the walker's guns,   
with no visible cover for an enemy ambush. The general picked   
out Stent: he stood closer to the walker than the rest, with a comm   
link in one hand and a breathing mask all to himself.  
  
"I'll speak to the commander," Beyin said. Seconds later a   
Chiss voice came through the speakers.  
  
"General Beyin, sir," Stent's tone was clipped and   
businesslike, but didn't suggest any great emergency; if he was an   
imposter, he was well-schooled in Chiss protocol, "Commander   
Juhs'ten'trivah reporting. My men and I are at your disposal."  
  
"Acknowledged, Commander," Beyin responded, "though   
you realized I cannot trust you or your men until team of Imperial   
medics have examined you all meticulously. Until then you must   
remain under guard."  
  
"Of course, sir, I imagine you have a number of questions   
to ask. I am curious concerning a few matters as well: chiefly the   
Chiss fighters and tanks we have seen." Beyin felt a sick feeling in   
his stomach: they didn't know about alliance with Thrawn's old   
phalanx, and they didn't, couldn't, know about Homeworld.  
  
"But in the meantime I request breathing gear and medical   
supplies be distributed to my pilots."  
  
"I will arrange it, Commander."  
  
"Thank you sir," Stent paused a moment, then allowed the   
barest hint of emotion to color his voice, "and if I may say, it's a   
great relief to see the Empire marching on these barbarians."  
  
"The battle isn't over yet, Commander."  
  
****************************************************  
A score of coralskippers attacked Drash from every   
direction, plasma cannons and grutchin struck from the planet   
itself and filled the void around him with foes.  
  
Drash was enjoying himself. He toyed with the attackers,   
leading them down coral canyons and flying perilously close to   
plasma geysers. Several skips had perished already, having   
misjudge and flown too close to a canyon wall or a geyser as it   
gouted up plasma at Imperial craft. Others he destroyed with his   
own weapons.  
  
He didn't waste energy trying to shield himself but rather   
used all the dovin basals' power to propel his craft at high speeds.   
The other coralskippers had to do the same to keep up with him,   
leaving no strength to shield their own fighters, but while Drash   
was used to fighting in an unshielded ship the Vong pilots were   
used to having a void to call on.  
  
Without warning Drash dropped his speed and opened fire   
when the coralskippers shot past him. He got three of them before   
the others could start an upward climb. Now the pursuer rather   
than the pursued, Drash climbed after them, lobbing plasma when   
he had a target in range. Tired dovin basals couldn't muster up a   
void and a fourth fighter died, its corpse spinning aimlessly   
through space. Three more tried to take him from behind, but he   
dodged the plasma and projectiles with minuscule swerves in one   
direction, then another. Now that he was fully aware of the Force   
his piloting skills put his prior ability to shame. True, the aliens   
and their creatures didn't register in the Force, but they had weight,   
mass and velocity, (those) had an effect on the Force.  
  
The coralskippers and their weapons made ripples as they   
moved through that energy field, by paying attention to those   
ripples Drash could tell where they were, what they were doing   
and even what they were (likely) to do. Oh, not too far in advance,   
a few seconds at most, but that was more than he needed.  
  
A turboblaster bolt from an attacking Star Destroyer   
streaked down to the worldship surface and tore up a small chunk   
of coral, 'small' being relative to the size of the Star Destroyer:   
coral segments twice the size of his skip erupted from the fresh   
crater. A coralskipper crashed into one and disintegrated. The   
human cast out with his senses, looking for other targets.  
  
There were none.  
  
To his chagrin, he saw that the coralskippers he hadn't   
killed had all gone off to fight the Imperials. He banked toward   
the fighting and only a last-minute warning through the Force   
saved him from taking a rocky projectile in the cockpit. He   
swerved away just in time, but the missile was followed by a   
plasma volley and he had to execute a sideways roll to save   
himself.  
  
Drash winced as he skimmed the worldship's surface, coral   
peaks and valleys to either side of him and ground mere   
centimeters from his fighter's belly: there was a long score along   
his fighter's side. That skip had hit him!  
  
Even more astonishing, the craft was gaining ground   
quickly, apparently using the same tactic Drash employed: using   
its dovin basals for propulsion only. The human began some fancy   
flying, steep climbs, sharp banks, sudden increases and reductions   
in speed, and astonishingly the other skip kept on his tail the whole   
way, and several of its shots almost hit him.  
  
Under his cognition hood, Drash grinned: at last a   
challenge!  
  
*******************************************************  
Wras pursued the rogue coralskipper with single-minded   
focus. He didn't recognize fear or failure, doubt wasn't a part of   
his makeup: since his shaping he had become a better pilot than his   
earlier self could have dreamed.  
  
When the lights had gone out in the base, Wras hadn't   
hesitated: he'd run straight to the coralskippers and taken off for   
the space battle. The base was a lost cause, and Wras knew this   
was how he could best serve the Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
There had been another reason he had run for the   
coralskippers: because he needed the cold focus they provided.   
When he flew there was no purpose beyond the enemies in his   
sights. Wras hadn't shown it, but seeing Stent, speaking to the   
Chiss, had shaken him. Being so close to one of his people again   
had awakened, not memories exactly, but (sensations): the vague   
feeling that he belonged with the red-eyed infidels, which was   
utterly at odds with the not-at-all vague knowledge that his place   
was with his fellow Yuuzhan Vong.  
  
Wras had experienced a moment of creeping dread:   
suppose that other personae, the weak, damned infidel he had once   
been, was resurfacing? Under normal circumstances he would   
have run to the priests and shapers, but none were available at the   
moment so he ran to his coralskipper: the focusing power of   
combat piloting would help with this division of his psyche. At the   
very least it would keep him sane until he could speak with Krelt   
and the shapers.  
  
The infidel-infested coralskipper tried to shake Wras by   
following the worldship's landscape at high speeds, sometimes   
passing so close to coral outcroppings a sneeze would have meant   
crashing. Wras never hesitated in following.  
  
The enemy dived into a canyon and Wras followed, lobbing   
two projectiles as he went. He almost hit the infidel, almost.  
  
Wras didn't experience frustration at the miss: he would   
destroy the infidel eventually. He knew only the pure, overriding   
purpose of his mission and through the yammosk he experienced   
the group-sensation with his brother Yuuzhan Vong and their   
creatures. It didn't matter if he died: Wras was no longer an   
individual, he was an amphistaff with bared and venomous fangs,   
he was a sharpened coufee, thirsty for blood.  
  
  
*******************************************************  
Sang Anor felt an instant of panic when he saw Thrawn's   
reinforcements. Had he miscalculated? Had his attack on the   
Chiss Homeworld incited them to throw in with Thrawn rather   
than let their pride lead them into a useless war, as the Executor   
had intended?  
  
The distress vanished as soon as it appeared: the new ships   
constituted less than a single phalanx, and none of the Chiss ships   
was the equal of a Star Destroyer. Even better, none of them were   
equipped with Thrawn's countermeasure, the Executor quickly   
discovered this when the (Long Reach) grasped one of the bigger   
Chiss ships in its gravitational clutches and succeeded in holding it   
and stripping away the machine's shields. A volley of guided   
missiles demolished the infidel craft.  
  
This changed nothing: the newcomers would be easily   
cleared away once the Imperials were dealt with. Sang Anor's   
victory would simply cost a little more effort and time, so he   
thought as the desk hai moved in to demolish more Star   
Destroyers.  
  
Now all that remained was to deal with that rogue   
coralskipp-  
  
Sang Anor's mind froze in midthought. The very synapses   
in his brain seemed to overload and (surge). He literally could not   
believe what the yammosk had just shown him. He was   
hallucinating, that was it: the creature on the other side of the   
chamber door could not possibly be here. Sang Anor waited for   
the yammosk to replace this delusion with the real image the   
internal sensor-eyes had picked up, but the brown-robed avian   
remained. Not only did she remain, she activated her vile   
machine-produced blade of light and plunged the point into the   
door.  
  
Still stroking the amphistaff around his arm and over his   
shoulders, Sang Anor slowly turned and looked down at the door.   
He caught the smell of sizzling flesh as the lightsaber roasted the   
door's tissue.  
  
The damaged coralskipper from the planet, the one he had   
let aboard and then forgotten about in the heat of battle, the Jedi   
had been inside. Sang Anor knew it with sudden but total   
conviction. His mind drifted to the ruined seed world; so Nom   
Anor was dead after all. He had a flash of memory so strong it   
might have been qasa-induced; in this memory he was seventeen   
years younger and newly wed to his first and only wife. He had   
fewer scars and less tattoos, but for once rank and power were no   
part of his thoughts. All his attention was concentrated on the   
newborn infant he held, still slick with birthing fluids.  
  
He looked at the newborn in his arms: a disgustingly soft-  
skinned creature, its wrinkly body unscarred and bare of tattoos, to   
Yuuzhan Vong, children too young to provide for themselves were   
looked on as burdens to family and domain. They weren't people,   
but potential; creatures yet to be tested and found worthy of life.   
The baby was nothing of great importance.  
  
And yet Sang Anor loved him.  
  
He had given the child to Lyrra before the attendant came   
to take little Nom to his creche, and seeing his beautiful wife and   
son together Sang Anor, a politician to the core, experienced a   
simple but powerful feeling he could never put into words. It was   
more than a feeling: it was a conviction.  
  
He loved them both more than he could ever describe.  
  
Oh gods how he loved them.  
  
(Gone), the shadows around him whispered gleefully,   
(alone, alone, alone).  
  
The blade continued its path through the door, it would   
take a few seconds more for her to get through. Sang Anor sent a   
thought to the yammosk and the portal simply irised open.  
  
***************************************************  
Vergere was caught by surprise when the door opened. She   
jumped back, blade raised to a guard position, but when no attack   
came she edged slowly into the doorway.  
  
The chamber was large and round, with a high pedestal that   
but the yammosk in the exact center of the room. Beside the war   
coordinator, in full armor except for the masked helmet, was Sang   
Anor. The room was full of images of the space battle, but when   
the Jedi stepped into the room they all faded away and she was left   
with Sang Anor to concentrate on. He was more than enough.  
  
The Executor's face was unreadable, his eyes without   
expression, his soul, if Yuuzhan Vong had souls, gave off no   
signature in the Force, but when Vergere met his eyes she felt her   
heart contract with terror as darkness and death washed over her.   
Not through the Force, but through some manner or instinct more   
basic and primal, something that reached into animal part of her   
brain and set off alarms. The smell of fire in the air, the feel of an   
earthquake building under your feet. Vergere knew which future   
had to be, and she knew what she had to do to make it happen, but   
looking at Sang Anor she very much doubted her ability to do so.  
  
"Its been a long time, Jedi," the calm voice sent waves of   
icewater through her blood.  
  
"Three years," somehow, her own voice was as composed   
as his, "not so very long in the grand scheme of things."  
  
"Three years can be an eternity," Sang Anor replied. Three   
years in an empty bed. Three years living when a part of your soul   
has been cut away. He didn't speak these words, but somehow   
Vergere heard them.  
  
"You know why I'm here," she raised her weapon.  
  
"Of course. You're here for the same thing you did at   
Zonama Sekot, the same thing you did by saving Thrawn and   
helping the slaves and infidels on my seed world: you're here to   
interfere with your betters in matters not your concern."  
  
"I am a Jedi," Vergere felt strength rising withing her when   
she said that, "I fight evil wherever I find it."  
  
"And am I evil?" Sang Anor smiled, almost gently.  
  
Vergere thought of the torments inflicted on the Nesz, of   
their dead world and dead ways. She thought of the plagues Sang   
Anor had loosed on the Unknown Regions, of the tortures,   
sacrifices and atrocities beyond count she had seen as a Yuuzhan   
Vong prisoner. Of the Executor's many deceits, treacheries and   
murders. "Yes," she said, "you are." Sang Anor was not as far   
gone as Palpatine, he not as lost to darkness as a Sith Lord, but he   
was getting there.  
  
"Perhaps I am," he nodded slowly, "we will discuss this at   
length later, during your sacrifice." He cocked his head. "Take   
her."  
  
Vergere didn't need to wonder who he was talking to for   
long: the yammosk attacked her immediately.  
  
The war coordinator bent its will on her, seeking to   
overwhelm her mind with its telepathic might, to crush her will   
and break her spirit, leaving her a babbling, drooling thing.  
  
Vergere shoved it off easily. Under normal circumstances   
a yammosk would be more able to break her defenses with ease,   
but this one was in the middle of a battle, with the bulk of its   
energy tied up in organizing and commanding the Yuuzhan Vong   
forces. It just didn't have the strength to spare.  
  
"It wont work," Vergere shook her head, "if you want me   
dead you'll have to do it yourself."  
  
Sang Anor watched her with those sharp, cold eyes of his.   
Then, slowly, he smiled.  
  
"So be it," he said, "Jedi."  
  
*******************************************************  
The (Sentinel) sent another volley of charricfire down on   
the worldships, and though many of the bolts were swallowed by   
dovin basals, more than half got through to the surface. A casual   
observer would think the Imperials were winning, but Raine knew   
better: the mass and size of the (Long Reach) was defeating them.   
Thrawn's forces were wearing themselves out against the   
worldship, which responds with its own seemingly inexhaustible   
armaments.  
  
The worldship dominated half the viewscreen, the dying   
planet the other half. Her view was occasionally blocked by the   
Imperial probe droids Thrawn had provided. Barbarous devices,   
but she had to admit they worked: the worldship could no longer   
simply swat their fleet out of the sky. A few larger chunks were   
breaking off the (Long Reach), but compared to the main body   
they were merely chips. Meanwhile, the desk hai continued to   
take out the biggest ships with impunity. It was only a matter time   
before the Imperials succumbed.  
  
Abruptly, she spun to the comm station. "Hail the   
(Imperator), I need to speak with the Syndic," the title stung her   
mouth.  
  
"Commander," Thrawn's image flickered to life before her.  
  
"Syndic, dividing our forces is a mistake," she didn't waste   
time with courtesies. "You need to combine the fleet and strike at   
one point on the worldship. If the worldship starts to rotate we   
need to follow the spin and keep firing. We're too few to inflict   
significant allover damage."  
  
The Admiral nodded. "You are correct, Commander. I   
will recall the other two battle groups, and thank you for the input.   
In the meantime, concentrate your fire on the largest craters." The   
hologram dissolved.  
  
(That was quick), she thought. She had half expected   
Thrawn to reject her suggestion out of hand and had been ready   
with reasons to convince him differently. If anything, this only set   
off another flare of anger within her: Thrawn was apparently a   
living ideal, everyone perfect commander. No wonder Vraet was   
so insecure and resentful, so easily goaded into trying to prove   
himself. A lifetime of trying to live up to someone like   
Mith'raw'nuruodo would do that to anyone.  
  
That was the way of Chiss nobility, where a child was just   
a commodity, shaped to fit a mold of unyielding cast. Thrawn   
would do the same thing to his grandchild if he ever found out   
such an heir existed, Raine intended that he never would.  
  
"Commander," the tactics officer raised his voice,   
"incoming hostiles." A desk hai preceded by five shielding rocks   
approached the (Sentinel) from the port side. A wing of Chiss   
fighters hurried to intercept it, but the desk hai abruptly reversed   
course and began heading backwards, quickly picking up speed.   
Two of the rocks followed and the fighters pursued.  
  
But the three remaining shield rocks not only kept their   
course, but increased speed once the Chiss fighters passed them.   
They locked their powerful dovin basals on the (Sentinel) and two   
other Chiss capital ships. Raine's red eyes widened when she saw   
ten more asteroids rushing towards them.  
  
"Send a call to Red Wing," she somehow kept a level tone,   
"tell Red One's fighters to engage and destroy those three   
asteroids."  
  
"Commander, gravitational anomalies have disabled our   
port shields and four asteroids are on a collision course."  
  
"Lay down suppressing fire and roll the ship," she ordered.  
  
The (Sentinel) began to roll, putting her shielded underside   
to the rocks, but they weren't rolling fast enough. The   
gravitational compensator maintained that the deck was still   
(down), no matter how the ship rolled. Turbocharric bolts   
disintegrated two asteroids, but the others rammed the capital   
ship's unshielded hull.  
  
The blast knocked Raine off her feet, but she rolled as she   
hit the deck and was back on her feet a few seconds later with only   
a bruise or two for her troubles. Many of the bridge crew weren't   
so skilled or lucky: the tactics officer had hit his head against the   
display, the screen was cracked and a cut on his forehead spilled   
red blood into red eyes, the rest were mostly cuts and bruises, the   
worst was a crewer who had broken his arm in the tumble.  
  
"Status," Raine began to say when her booted feet left the   
deck, the gravitational compensator, it seemed, was one casualty.  
  
The lights dimmed, but the screens stayed up as emergency   
power kicked in. "Heavy damage to the underside and lower   
levels," a crewer reported, life support is still operational, weapons   
are offline."  
  
"Shields?" She asked.  
  
"Gone," the crewer grimaced, "I'm trying to contact the   
technicians to-"  
  
"Commander!" Another Chiss spoke up. "We're being   
boarded!" The viewscreen flickered back to life, showing a hoard   
of grutchin streaming into the (Sentinel)'s wound.  
  
"Seal all blast doors!" She ordered.  
  
The sight Raine found even more ominous, though, was   
beyond the forward viewport where (Night of Fire,) a Yuuzhan   
Vong battlecruiser the size of a Star Destroyer, closed in on the   
drifting ship.  
  
**********************************************  
Thrawn immediately dispatched a Star Destroyer and   
supporting cruisers to rescue the crippled ships. He hoped Raine   
survived, but it looked doubtful: there was no way the   
reinforcements could arrive before the Vong cruiser finished off   
the (Sentinel).  
  
A pity, Raine had proven more capable than he'd   
suspected: consolidating the fleet was good strategy, Thrawn had   
been about to do just that when Raine had contacted him with the   
suggestion.  
  
Even more disappointing, she would die before Thrawn   
had a chance to puzzle out her secret. Whatever it was, it seemed   
tied up with her intent to leave his phalanx directly after this battle.   
Try as he might, Thrawn couldn't convince her to stay. Clearly,   
this secret was important if it was compelling her to leave the   
phalanx she'd built and commanded for years. But what could be   
more important to this female than her duty to the Chiss and   
preserving the honor of her phalanx? What could-  
  
The whole universe froze around him as an idea, a thought,   
an (insight), bloomed in his mind.  
  
Raine was female.  
  
She had been Vraet's lover.  
  
What was more important to a female than (anything) else?  
  
Thrawn had no proof, it was only a hunch, but he (knew)   
the truth. He watched the battleship close in on the (Sentinel), and   
the only time he'd felt more helplessness and fear was when he'd   
seen what the Yuuzhan Vong had done to Homeworld.  
  
***********************************************  
Sang Anor took three steps back from the edge of the pillar,   
his eyes drilling holes in Vergere. "Do," he thrust his right arm out   
sideways and spread his fingers wide. "Ro'ik," the amphistaff slid   
down his arm and crossed his palm. "Vong," he closed his hand   
and the serpent went ridged. "Praaaaaaatte!" He ran to the edge   
and (leapt) off the pedestal.  
  
Sang Anor was a black silluete in the air, the amphistaff   
raised overhead and the war cry still on his lips as he arced down   
towards her. Vergere rolled out of the way as he landed, but Sang   
Anor executed a forward roll the second the balls of his feet   
touched the deck. When he came up he was in range and he lashed   
at her with the amphistaff.  
  
Vergere jumped straight up, strong legs and quick reflexes   
saved her from a blow that would have shattered her bones. She   
arced her lightsaber in a downward slice at the Yuuzhan Vong's   
head, but Sang Anor wasn't to be taken that easily: at a twist of his   
arm and a flick of his wrist the other end of the serpent curved up,   
hardened and took the blow, then he tried to catch her blade in the   
curve of his amphistaff and rip it from her hands with a sudden   
pivot of his upper body. The Jedi barely kept her grip on the   
weapon. She somersaulted and kicked at the wall behind her, spun   
over Sang Anor's head and landed behind him.  
  
She stabbed at Sang Anor, but the Executor was already   
turning and bringing up his weapon. The violet blade threw up   
sparks as it skidded across the amphistaff tail, then Sang Anor   
sprang at her, his amphistaff a whirlwind in his hands.  
  
Vergere dodged and rolled. In this battle she had speed and   
fast reflexes, but those were her only advantages. She wore no   
armor and in the middle of a worldship she was cut off from the   
greater power of the Force; she had only her own life-energy to   
draw on.  
  
Sang Anor was another matter altogether; as a member of   
the intendant caste he was a politician, not a warrior, but Yuuzhan   
Vong practice literal cut-throat politics. Sang Anor was a master   
of the amphistaff and he wore full body armor. He had a longer   
reach than Vergere, he was taller than her and much, much   
stronger.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong pressed his attack and Vergere gave   
ground. She ducked an amphistaff swing and slashed back with   
her lightsaber, Sang Anor blocked the strike with an armored   
forearm while the other hand twirled the amphistaff and drove its   
fangs toward her body. She pivoted and tried to tangle the snake's   
head in a fold of her robe, then feinted a thrust at the Yuuzhan   
Vong's neck. When he moved his staff to block she swung the   
lightsaber at his ankles, intending to sweep his feet out from under   
him.  
  
Sang Anor saw the trick coming: he blocked the swing with   
the other end of the staff, then aimed a side-kick at her head. The   
Jedi ducked and rolled away, robe billowing around her.  
  
******************************************************  
The Vong battleship filled the viewscreen. Floating in   
zero-gravity, Raine kicked against a wall and launched herself at a   
control station. She caught the chair back as she sailed past and   
the uninjured Chiss at the station finally tore his eyes from the   
living ship and noticed her.  
  
"Commander," he managed to maintain something like   
discipline in his manner, even if he had to brace his legs against   
the underside of the control console to keep from floating off his   
chair.  
  
"Do we still have contact with the probe droids?" Raine   
asked. The crewer looked at her with uncomprehending eyes.   
"Crewer, report!" She made her voice sound like the crack of a   
whip, and the crewer turned to his station without thinking.  
  
"We do," he reported.  
  
"Good," her hands clenched on the chair back as she told   
him what to do. Raine turned to another officer. "I need a torpedo   
primed and ready to launch, now."  
  
The officer blinked. "What good would one torpedo do-"  
  
"That was an order, not a suggestion," the bright flare of   
her red eyes stilled all objections. At that moment, with her face   
framed by a stormcloud of black hair and her eyes burning with   
something more than the obligatory red inner light of the Chiss,   
Raine resembled one of the ancient war gods the Chiss once   
worshiped, or perhaps Grelm'ine'nethtu, the witch-queen of myth.  
  
As the warship entered firing range a black cloud of probe   
droids rose to meet it, and the vessel seemed to stagger as the   
gravitational disruptions meant to defend against the worldship   
interfered with and confused (Night of Fire)'s dovin basals. The   
plasma cannons loosed gouts of fire that atomized the small droids,   
but for a few seconds the ship was drifting, propelled forward by   
momentum alone, and in those seconds the (Sentinel) fired a   
torpedo.  
  
The ship must have seen it, but before the recovering dovin   
basals could raise a void the missile struck a lumpish projection on   
the upper-forward area of the ship, which Raine hoped was the   
bridge, and disintegrated it.  
  
For a long and hopeful moment the warship kept on   
barreling forward on nothing but momentum, then the vessel   
slowed and stopped as the dovin basals cut in. (Night of Fire)   
slowly turned, bringing its plasma cannons back on the (Sentinel)   
as its backup brain took charge.  
  
"Ancestors embrace us," the officer began the prayer.  
  
"That may be a little presumptuous," Raine said dryly as   
turbocharric bolts dug into the side of the Yuuzhan Vong ship.   
The officer looked to the display screen and saw the (Ever   
Watchful), Syndic Taesk's flagship, closing in and attacking the   
much larger Vong ship.  
  
*******************************************************  
Oin paced the deck with restless energy, with the passing of   
every second he seemed to feel the worldship shudder under his   
feet. He fingered the bandolier and it seemed the weight of a   
planet hung around his neck. The Nesz were depending on him,   
and if the Imperials destroyed the (Long Reach) the seeds, and the   
future of the Nesz, would die with it.  
  
For the hundredth time he turned back to the archway, this   
time more than half ready to run after his friend. Vergere had told   
him to stay here, that it was dangerous, but if she got herself killed   
then Oin's chances of escaping weren?t worth consideration.   
  
(Besides), he thought as he began running, (I've gotten her   
out of a few tough spots before).  
  
He wouldn't be any help to Vergere this time, though, as an   
amphistaff from behind struck at his feet, tangling in his legs so   
that he was pitched forward onto his face. His snout struck the   
coral deck and stars went supernova behind his eyes. He shoved   
himself around and on his back as the amphistaff reared up to bite   
his face.  
  
"Well now," Krelt moved into Oin's line of vision, "they   
missed a slave during the sacrifices." He shook his head   
disapprovingly. "Such carelessness, and now I suppose it falls to   
me to finish their work."  
  
*******************************************************  
Vergere parried a glob of venom that hissed and sizzled on   
her blade, then Sang Anor was charging her. The Jedi stood her   
ground and spun, the Yuuzhan Vong missed her by inches and she   
slashed at his back as momentum carried him past her, he spun and   
the slash took him across the chest. Vergere put all her strength   
behind the swing and the blade cut into the armor and scorched the   
flesh beneath.  
  
Then Vergere was leaping to avoid the counterstroke. She   
ran until the curving wall blocked her path, then jumped and ran   
along the surface of the wall itself. The Jedi spun away from the   
wall and stabbed at Sang Anor's side, but the blow was blocked by   
the amphistaff. Sang Anor followed her with burning eyes, his   
anger beat down on the Jedi.  
  
Vergere fought without anger, without despair, frustration   
or fear. Deep inside she felt the simple, powerful peace that came   
from the Force. She seemed to flow like water, moving one way,   
then another, blocking and giving ground before his attacks but   
moving in to strike when she saw an opening. Sang Anor was   
good, no question about it, but she danced around him and avoided   
his swings with ease. If not for his armor he'd have been killed   
three times by now.  
  
The Fosh ducked a punch from the Yuuzhan Vong's   
guantlet-covered fist, pivoted to avoid the stabbing amphistaff then   
rolled under a kick. Patience was the key here: wait for Sang Anor   
to tire or make a mistake in his own impatience, then-  
  
(OIN)!  
  
The Nesz's fear was like a scream. He was in danger!  
  
For the barest fraction of a second Vergere lost her   
concentration. Then she saw the attack coming, too late, and   
moved, too late.  
  
The amphistaff caught her across the right leg and agony   
tore through her, shattering what remained of her focus. The Jedi's   
lightsaber slipped from her hand, deactivated and bounced across   
the floor. She knew the leg was broken, she shifted her balance to   
her left leg and hopped backwards, trying to call her lightsaber   
back.  
  
Then Sang Anor was rushing her, and Vergere had neither   
the agility to dodge or the weapon to block and counterattack.   
Sang Anor rammed his shoulder into her chest and her entire body   
flew back and hit the coral wall. The impact knocked the wind out   
of her and the back of her head struck the wall. She fell to the   
deck.  
  
*******************************************************  
The (Ever Watchful) shielded the damaged (Sentinel) with   
It's body as it traded volleys with the (Night of Fire). Thrawn   
watched as the much larger Vong battleship poured plasma on the   
Chiss vessel. The (Ever Watchful) was faster, it could have   
evaded the living ship, but other than roll to present shielded sides   
to the (Night of Fire) it didn't move.  
  
Taesk knew that if he moved his ship the Vong cruiser   
would immediately continue its assault on the (Sentinel), and when   
Thrawn had seen the (Ever Watchful) was the only friendly ship of   
any strength near Raine's vessel he had immediately contacted the   
former Syndic and given him a direct command, Syndic to phalanx   
warrior: "Protect the (Sentinel), protect her at all costs."  
  
The (Night of Fire) attacked the Chiss ship brutally,   
oblivious to the Star Destroyers closing in on it. Its bridge crew   
dead, the battleship no longer had a Yuuzhan Vong to guide it and   
so the living vessel reacted as any large, fierce animal, injured and   
enraged, would. The (Sentinel) had injured the ship, it wanted to   
destroy the Chiss craft in turn, and if this other vessel got in the   
way (Night of Fire) would vape it as well.  
  
Still, Taesk didn't abandon the (Sentinel), even when (Ever   
Watchful)'s shields finally gave out and it had nothing to block   
with but its hull. Plasma and projectiles struck the capital ship and   
it exploded under the onslaught.  
  
Thrawn's heart sank. ("...do something useful for once in   
my life.") that was what Taesk had said. (You have, my old   
friend), Thrawn thought as five Star Destroyers converged on the   
(Night of Fire), their combined firepower overwhelmed its dovin   
basals and tore the Vong warship apart. "May your ancestors   
embrace you," he murmured in his own tongue, "and carry your   
soul into the stars." There was more to the ritual prayer,   
beseeching the deceased's decedents to look to his life for   
guidence and wisdom, but Taesk had died the last of his line.   
(You have done more than you know).  
  
*******************************************************  
"A disgrace," Krelt continued to shake his head, watching   
the struggling Oin with impassive olc'its as he talked, to himself,   
Oin knew, not him: a Yuuzhan Vong didn't speak to a slave. "I   
come to the yammosk's chambers thinking to sacrifice myself to   
Yun Yammka, to atone for letting an infidel convert slip escape   
me, only to find the worldship crawling with stray vermin," the   
burned priest sighed. "The gods will not be pleased." He walked   
forward, limping slightly, he must have injured his hip somehow,   
obviously why he needed the support of the amphistaff he'd cast at   
Oin.  
  
The serpent twined around him and the Nesz struggled to   
pry the coils away with one hand while the other gripped the   
amphistaff's neck just below the head. With every breath he took   
the Vong creature tightened around him a little more.  
  
Krelt drew a sacrificial coufee from his transparent robes.   
Oin struggled to free himself from the amphistaff's coils as Krelt   
closed in on him. The priest reached for Oin's head with his   
skeletal hand, but the Nesz jerked away and bit at his fingers, all   
the while still wrestling with the snake.  
  
"Wait!" He yelled into Krelt's face and the priest paused,   
bemused to hear a slave speak with the tongue of the gods. "Tell   
me why first. Why did you come to our world? Why did you   
enslave and kill us? The Nesz did nothing to you, we did nothing   
to anyone, why did you do this to us?" He pried at the coils.   
"Answer me!"  
  
Krelt frowned. "To you?" He repeated. "Foolish creature,   
this was never about you, and it was never your world. The gods   
have decreed all the planets in this galaxy belong to us, all (life)   
belongs to us. We took your world because we could use it, and   
we enslaved you because you were convenient. It's that simple."  
  
Krelt tried to grab Oin a few more times, wanting to pull   
Oin's head back and slit the Nesz's throat in a reasonable clean   
kill, but when he kept moving he sighed and simply stabbed at   
Oin. The blade missed cutting the reptilian as Oin rolled away, but   
the edge cut his bandolier. Before his horrified eyes the cut end   
fell to the deck, spilling the seeds of his people's future. Krelt   
merely kicked the end away as he advanced on the Nesz.  
  
Horror turned into white-hot rage when Oin saw that. For   
the Yuuzhan Vong to destroy his people's last hope so casually and   
then (not even notice) was just too much to bear. Without   
thinking, he pivoted his lower body and swung his tail. He   
knocked Krelt's legs out from under him and the priest fell to the   
deck with a yell of surprise, the coufee flew from his hand.  
  
Oin saw the weapon spin through the air and clatter to the   
deck, almost within arm's reach. Oin could reach it, but he'd have   
to release his hold on the amphistaff to do it. He looked into the   
serpent's eyes, mere inches away from his own and kept away only   
by Oin's grip on its neck. If he didn't try for the weapon, though,   
the constricting snake would strangle him.  
  
He released the serpent's head, rolled and seized the coufee   
as the amphistaff coiled around his neck. The creature was   
strangling him, cutting off his air, and Oin had a moment of panic   
before stabbing with the Vong blade.  
  
Oin felt the edge bite into something, then heard a grinding   
sound and a startled scream from the amphistaff and saw the   
serpent's severed head flop onto the deck. The strength gone out   
of its body, Oin shoved the coils away and stood.  
  
He spun and found Krelt, the priest was leaning against a   
wall, pulling himself upright and trying to stand. Oin felt a low   
growl build in his throat, then he was sprinting across the deck. He   
knocked the ancient priest to the floor and leapt atop his chest.   
Oin felt something snap under the Vong's burnt skin and the   
gasping priest clawed at him with bony hands, but the Nesz was   
too infuriated to notice.  
  
"Boast now, you stinking monster!" Oin snarled at the   
priest and wrapped his hands around his scrawny neck. "Tell me   
how great you are, tell me we don't matter! Come on! Tell me!   
Come on!" He punctuated each sentence by ramming the back of   
the Yuuzhan Vong's head into the coral floor.  
  
Krelt made no response, his mouth had gone slack, his eyes   
wide and expressionless and his hands limp at his sides. Oin   
shifted his feet, felt the broken bones in the priest's chest and   
understood. He opened his hands and the burned, bald head fell   
back against the deck.  
  
Oin climbed off the body, then looked away in disgust as   
the yellow olc'its began climbing out of the dead body's sockets.   
Shuddering, he bent and gathered up the seeds.  
  
*******************************************************  
Vergere's vision swam out of focus, for a moment it   
seemed she might pass out but the pain in her broken leg wouldn't   
let her lose conciousness.   
  
Then a great, black shape towered over her. It stooped on   
her like a bird of prey with its kill and an armored hand tangled its   
claws in the front of her robe, then she was being hauled up and   
suspended in the air as if she weighed no more than a bag of   
feathers.  
  
She barely felt the pain when the figure slammed her   
against the wall and held her there. She was busily engaged in a   
Jedi calming exercise, then something seemed to snap back in   
place in her head and Vergere saw Sang Anor's face take shape in   
the fog. She recovered her wits just in time to see the Executor   
draw his coufee and drive the blade through a fold in her robe and   
into the wall. He released his hold then, but Vergere stayed in   
place: dangling from the coufee with her face on a level with Sang   
Anor's.  
  
The Yuuzhan Vong's face had taken on a semblance of   
calm, but the mad glitter of his bright eyes and the twitch at the   
corner of his mouth let the Jedi glimpse a trace of what the Force   
could not reveal to her. He pulled the gauntlet from his right hand   
and cast it to the deck.  
  
Sang Anor smiled slowly and raised his bare hand, it was   
so close she could reach out and trace the tattoos on the back of his   
hand. The fingers were stiff but slightly curved, his talons, wicked   
and sharp, curved back toward his face. Vergere knew his   
intention as clearly as if she'd ready his thoughts: Sang Anor would   
slit her belly open with those claws, then, with his bare hand,   
remove her organs one at a time.  
  
Vergere had failed, she knew it. She looked into the   
Executor's eyes and saw her own death, and this time there was no   
Nesz to save her and no Eternals to heal her. She was cut off from   
the Force and beyond even Thracia's reach. She was alone in the   
pits of hell, without weapons or friends.  
  
"You stupid animal," Sang Anor shook his head, "did you   
learn nothing from living among us? The Yuuzhan Vong are   
invincible," he leaned closer to Vergere. "We cannot be stopped,   
not by any scheme or treachery you can devise, not by any allies   
you can muster against us, and not by your Jedi magic." He took   
another step toward her, he was close enough to-  
  
(To what)? She felt like laughing at the part of her, shaped   
by long and intense training, that still sought a way to win. (If I   
kick him he'll break my other leg, if I try to punch him he'll bite   
my fingers off).  
  
"Today I will triumph here," he continued, "tomorrow I will   
triumph everywhere, in spite of you. I will crush any who stand in   
my way, the infidel Empire, the Rebellion and any stray Jedi that   
might live. I will shape all that live to my will, and the (Force),"   
his mouth twisted in contempt, "will die." He showed his teeth.   
"Your sacrifice will make it so."  
  
But Vergere wasn't listening to him anymore.  
  
She had seen something behind him that made hope spring   
to life in her breast.  
  
Her lightsaber.  
  
She reached out with her own life force, shaped with her   
will, and made the handle levitate. It slowly rose through the air   
until it hung on a level with Sang Anor's head.  
  
But the Executor was no fool, and he wasn't so caught up   
in dreams of future conquests not to notice Vergere's expression of   
intense concentration, or that his victim was focusing not on him,   
but at a point over his shoulder. He spun around as the Jedi   
weapon ignited.  
  
Sang Anor merely smirked as he raised his amphistaff in a   
guard position: let her launch her infidel blade at him, he would   
break the machine and then break the pieces into still-smaller   
segments.  
  
The lightsaber didn't launch itself at him, though, but up   
and at a sharp angle, building up speed as it moved. Sang Anor   
frowned in confusion, then his eyes followed the blade's path:   
straight as blaster bolt to the yammosk!  
  
"No!" He drew his arm back to throw his amphistaff,   
intending to knock the lightsaber off-course. That was his mistake:   
had he turned and killed Vergere or rendered her unconscious the   
lightsaber would lose its animation and fall back to the deck, but   
Sang Anor's first instinct was to deflect the attack.  
  
While his back was turned, Vergere braced her shoulders   
against the wall, clenched her mouth tight against the pain and   
kicked out with her good leg. She wrapped her muscular leg   
around the Yuuzhan Vong's neck and pulled him back as he threw.   
The amphistaff flew wide but the lightsaber sailed unobstructed   
toward the war coordinator. The yammosk was so busy   
concentrating on the battle that it didn't notice the weapon until the   
blade buried itself in its body. Vergere grabbed the coufee that   
held her and struggled to pull it from the wall.  
  
All the while she shoved the lightsaber deep and made it   
twist and swirl, destroying the mighty brain. The yammosk's black   
eyes bulged and it loosed a scream that Vergere heard with her   
mind, not her ears.  
  
The yammosk's death-cry was deafening to Vergere, but to   
Sang Anor, linked so closely with the coordinator, it must have   
been beyond her comprehension. His eyes bulged and he   
screamed in pain and shock. He pitched his body forward,   
doubling up and tearing Vergere away from the wall in the   
process. She rolled across the deck and shrieked as someone   
seemed to pull her broken leg apart and pour molten rock over the   
pieces, but she kept hold of the coufee.  
  
Sang Anor flung his torso backward until his back arched,   
his screams had become hoarse and ragged things. He pressed his   
hands to his temples and his talons dug into the skin over his   
forehead and scraped the skull beneath, crimson blood streamed   
over his face.  
  
Afterward, Vergere could never explain where she had   
found the strength to do what she did then. In truth it wasn't   
Vergere at all who acted in those next crucial moments.  
  
It was the Force.  
  
Rather, it was the part of her that most belonged to the Jedi   
Order, the part that cared nothing for her own fears, weaknesses,   
indecisions or pain, the part of her that was a servant of the Force,   
nothing more.  
  
In any case she didn't think before standing up and   
balancing on her good leg, she hadn?t even made a conscious   
decision to do so. Her mind was empty as she took those five long   
hops toward Sang Anor, still holding his coufee in one feathery   
hand. She felt no fear, no anger, only the beautiful peace of the   
Force. She didn't even register the hell in her broken leg.  
  
One last awkward bound placed her in front of Sang Anor.   
The Yuuzhan Vong was staggering blindly, but his screams were   
no louder than coughs now. Vergere relaxed, splayed her toes   
wide to keep her balance, and plunged the coufee into Sang Anor's   
lower chest, through the cut her lightsaber had earlier made across   
the armor covering his chest and abdomen.  
  
She yanked the coufee up until she encountered the bones   
of his sternum and ribs, then plunged the thirsty blade deeper and   
bade it drink deep. She twisted the weapon and pushed it from   
side-to-side, blood and other fluids spilled from the cut in his   
armor as vital organs shredded under the Jedi's onslaught.  
  
Sang Anor jerked, stiffened and fell to his knees. Once   
more their faces were on a level, Sang Anor's eyes rolled back and   
his mouth gaped slack. A low, groaning cry resounded from the   
cavern of his mouth. His shaking, shuddering arms slowly reached   
for the ceiling, perhaps to some presence revealed to his tortured   
brain, and he fell backward and lay still. Vergere looked down at   
him, at the great, twisted, bloody shape with a coufee jutting from   
its torso, then collapsed herself.  
  
*******************************************************  
Thrawn saw the change instantly: one moment the alien   
forces were all fighting as one, the next their unbelievable   
coordination vanished. Before his amazed eyes the enemy   
formations fell apart, coralskippers broke formation, coral   
battlecruisers and asteroids no longer worked in concert but simply   
attacked whatever targets were nearby.  
  
(This must be some kind of trick)! Was his first thought,   
but what purpose could Sang Anor have in throwing the battle?  
  
No, some other force was at work here, and on thinking of   
the word 'force' Thrawn suddenly understood: it was Vergere's   
doing. She had destroyed the ground-based weapon that had   
threatened Unity Fleet, and now she had somehow disabled the   
yammosk.  
  
"Press the attack," he ordered his commanders, "we've got   
them."  
  
******************************************************  
Using her arms and one leg, Vergere crawled away from   
Sang Anor. There was still one thing left to do, one thing to make   
certain the Yuuzhan Vong tasted utter defeat today. True, as   
things stood now Thrawn would almost certainly win, but the Jedi   
couldn't afford to chance it. Suppose some shaper or commander   
managed to access the worldship rikyam and order the (Long   
Reach) to withdraw and jump into hyperspace? If the worldship   
escaped then the danger would remain: it was a big galaxy, the   
Yuuzhan Vong could hide and grow strong again. They could   
make other seed worlds in secret and shape beings like Wras to   
replenish their losses. They could even grow another yammosk.  
  
They could do all that, if the worldship survived.  
  
Vergere was certain she would find what she needed at the   
base of the yammosk pillar. All she had to do was-  
  
She screamed when Sang Anor?s hand closed around her   
ankle. He began dragging her backward.  
  
*******************************************************  
The tanks fired a fresh volley at the tower. Beyin watched   
as the base cracked, then the tower collapsed like a rotting tree. It   
shattered as it struck the blasted ground, and the last Yuuzhan   
Vong structure on this world died.  
  
Along with everything else, it seemed.  
  
The trees had mostly withered away, and the birds and   
beasts were hacking their lives away. Dead fish floated to the   
surface of poisoned ponds by the hundred. Beyin felt something   
crack under his feet, looked down and saw the charred bones of a   
Nesz. He grimaced and stepped away.  
  
"We've encountered no resistance, sir," he turned to face   
the captain, a young Chiss phalanx officer eager to impress the   
legendary General Beyin.  
  
"It seems someone has done our job for us," the general   
nodded. "Let's just hope the rest of the battle is going as well."   
The processed air in his breathe mask stung his sinuses, but it was   
better than breathing the tainted air. He adjusted his face mask   
and goggles, then turned back to the ruined tower. "Someone   
really didn't care for the Yuuzhan Vong."  
  
"Sir," the comm link in his ear came to life, "commander   
Stent is requesting to speak with you."  
  
Beyin grimaced, Stent and his group had given him an   
abbreviated report of their activities planetside, and the general   
would have been tempted to dismiss the story as delusional   
nonsense - lizard ghosts and underwater domes made with magic,   
ridiculous - if they all didn't tell the same tale. Also, the facts   
seemed to fit their explanation: (something) must have devastated   
the base.  
  
"Put him through," Beyin no longer believed the stranded   
pilots were part of an alien trap: there was no one here to do any   
trapping.  
  
"General, my men and I know the location of some alien   
artifacts the Grand Admiral might express some interest in,"   
Stent's voice buzzed in Beyin's ear, "I suggest we take some   
samples for study before the alien pollution reaches them."  
  
"I hardly think archeology is one of our chief priorities," the   
general admonished.  
  
"These artifacts are special," Stent returned, "a study of   
them could lead to valuable technological breakthroughs." Stent   
paused for a moment, but Beyin could tell he was hesitating,   
unsure if he should continue to voice his thoughts.  
  
"Also General," he continued, "the natives of this world   
were instrumental in saving our lives and ending the Vong threat   
their focusing tower posed. My men and I believe there should be   
something preserved to remember them."  
  
Beyin frowned. "Very well, Commander, I'll send a   
detachment to retrieve this artifact, you can guide them."  
  
He arranged the party, then climbed into the cockpit of a   
crouching Walker and ordered the pilots to head deeper into the   
coral fields. The ground forces were scouring the base for signs of   
remaining Yuuzhan Vong, so far without finding so much as a   
stray amphistaff or a segment of vonduun crab armor. The distinct   
shapes of AT-ST Walkers could be seen everywhere, and   
occasionally a TIE fighter passed overhead. Beyin turned his   
attention to the sensor readouts and the narrow, horizontal slits that   
serves as windows.  
  
At this point, he was ready to declare this site officially   
secured. He wouldn't risk returning to the landers and trying to   
rejoin the fleet above, not with a battle in progress, so there was   
nothing to be done but dig in and wait. If Thrawn was victorious   
they could expect to return soon. If the savages won the day Beyin   
could expect a planetary bombardment to herald the Imperials'   
defeat.  
  
"Sir, the sensors have found something," the pilot bent over   
the console, "not alien though: it's not organic." He turned to the   
general. "It's metal sir, durasteel. Looks like an Imperial ship."  
  
Beyin raised a brow. "Curious, take us closer."  
  
The object in question was covered by debris of dead coral   
and ash. "I want a closer look," Beyin said. "Crouch and   
dismount."  
  
They exited the Walker and slowly circled the lump, from   
the sides of which two dirty metal fins jutted, meeting at the top to   
form a triangle. "It looks like a Lamda class shuttle," the pilot   
mused aloud. "How could it have gotten here?"  
  
"I believe I know," Beyin said. "During the first official   
encounter with the Yuuzhan Vong there was an assassination   
attempt on Admiral Thrawn. The aliens actually penetrated the   
(Admonitor) using their ooglith masquers and tried to eliminate   
him in his own chambers, killing a Royal Guardsman in the   
process. Afterward the surviving infiltrators escaped by stealing a   
Lamda class shuttle. I believe this is that shuttle."  
  
"The Admiral should be happy to have it back," the pilot   
ventured, "not that it will be much use after rusting here for over a   
month."  
  
(A month), Beyin thought, (things of great import often   
occur swiftly. A month ago I had never heard the name 'Yuuzhan   
Vong,' two days ago my beautiful Homeworld was strong and   
alive. The universe must have the mind of a capricious child if it   
loves surprises so).  
  
"The shuttle is probably in worse shape than it looks,"   
Beyin said when the reached the other side. "The rampway has   
been left open," he shook his head, "ranats have probably nested   
under the control panels." He turned back, but the pilot paused.  
  
"Sir, I hear something," he stepped close to the ship's body,   
pressed his head to the debris-covered hull, then pressed his palms   
against it. "This shuttle's activation sequence has been initialized,"   
he started around to the walkway, "the engines are heating up, I'd   
say it's almost ready for takeoff."  
  
Beyin's eyes widened, the pilot set one foot on the ramp.   
"Stop!" He shouted, too late.  
  
The pilot's head snapped back and his legs skidded forward   
and kicked up. He fell on his back, a razorbug stuck out of his   
forehead.  
  
Beyin stepped back and drew his blaster, his hand went to   
the comm link at his ear as two Yuuzhan Vong, faces covered by   
gnulliths, bounded down the ramp. Beyin fired and hit the taller   
savage in the chest as he threw another razorbug. The impact   
knocked him off the far side of the ramp, but the blade-edged   
insect flew its course and struck Beyin's hand as he reached for his   
comm.  
  
The general felt a rush of agony from his fingertips to his   
elbow, glanced at his hand and saw a razorbug had impaled his   
palm. Blood spurted from the wound and the fingers (he found it   
hard to think of the thing as (his) hand, with (his) fingers) twitched   
uncontrollably. He cut his gaze back to the shuttle, the smaller   
Yuuzhan Vong had leapt from the ramp and was only a few steps   
away from him, and the one Beyin had shot was struggling to his   
feet.  
  
Beyin was squeezing the trigger even before he took aim,   
but the savage's amphistaff flicked out and knocked the weapon   
from his hand. Beyin dropped into a defensive crouch and reached   
for his vibroblade, but the alien warrior merely advanced another   
step, spun the amphistaff around and plunged the serpent's head   
into Beyin's chest.  
  
(The universe is capricious indeed).  
  
*******************************************************  
Sang Anor slowly pulled the Jedi toward him. Vergere   
flipped onto her back and braced her hands on the floor. She tried   
to shove away but the Yuuzhan Vong's pull was inexorable. He   
lay on his stomach, he must have rolled over while Vergere was   
crawling toward her own goal, his arm had been fully extended to   
grab her ankle with his bare hand, and he was pulling himself   
forward with his other hand even as he drew her toward him.  
  
Sang Anor reached with his armored hand and grabbed a   
handful of her robes over her stomach. He released his hold on her   
ankle and pulled her with his gauntlet-covered hand. Her leg   
freed, Vergere could have kicked him then, but she didn't move.   
She had looked at Sang Anor's face, and she was frozen.  
  
Blood flowed from his forehead cuts, obliterating his facial   
tattoos. The Executor's face was a mask of crimson save for his   
ivory teeth and bright eyes. The sharp teeth were stained pink now   
and more blood dribbled down his chin, but it was the eyes that   
held Vergere, that froze her like a bird trapped in a serpent's gaze.  
  
Sang Anor's eyes were wide and bright with life, but devoid   
of intelligence. The yammosk's death had damaged his brain,   
perhaps permanently. He didn't know who she was, he probably   
didn?t even know who (he) was, but on some level he understood   
two things: he was dying and this bird-creature had killed him, and   
his last act would be to take her with him.  
  
It was the power of his will that held Vergere pinned: this   
terrible, inner strength that refused to die, that drove him on to his   
goals despite pain or injury, despite opposition, despite his own   
mortal wounds. How could she ever hope to win against a being   
that this? He would kill her. He would. He would. He would.   
His will reached out and drove that thought into her mind with   
every breath he took. For an eternity the chamber was silent, the   
only sound was Sang Anor's breathing: thick, wet noises that made   
his mouth foam pink.  
  
He reached for her with his bare hand, his arm arced over   
her. The muscles in his face and neck stood out from his skin and   
every breath was forced through his clenched teeth with more   
effort than the last, but he never blinked. If he had, then perhaps   
the spell would've broken and Vergere freed to think and move   
again.  
  
His talons hovered over her neck, there was a pause in   
which a thousand futures balanced on the tip of a feather, then   
Sang Anor's head slumped over and lay sideways on the floor. His   
hand slowly lowered to rest on her robes.  
  
This time, Sang Anor was truly dead. Vergere couldn't feel   
him through the Force, but she saw him die all the same. She saw   
his face lose its tension and go slack, she heard his breathing still,   
but most of all she saw the life go out of his eyes. For a few   
moments more his will still held her in place, not understanding   
what was happening, still trying to drive muscles that just couldn't   
respond. Then, by increments, the light behind those eyes faded   
until it was gone.  
  
Vergere looked on the corpse and found she could move   
again. She pushed the hand off her, not with any loathing, not with   
any feeling at all. He looked different now, smaller, befret of the   
will that had made him a force to be reckoned with. This wasn't   
Sang Anor, this was just a dead thing. The energy that had driven   
him, that snapped between the synapses of his brain, was gone.   
All that remained was meat.  
  
The Jedi crawled away from the corpse, she could not think   
of it as Sang Anor. She noticed her robes were bloody and touched   
them. No torn flesh, it came from the body.  
  
She knew she still had work to do, yet she lingered a   
moment more. "I never hated you," she said. "I suppose I had a   
right to, but I never did. I was afraid of you. I felt anger at what   
you did to Oin and the Nesz. And now," a tear slowly ran down   
her face, "now I pity you. Wherever you are, I hope you're   
reunited with Lyrra Anor. And I hope you're shown more mercy   
than you deserve."  
  
She turned away.  
  
And gasped in shock.  
  
****************************************************  
While the rest of the alien forces fell apart, Drash was   
happy to see his own opponent remained fixated on the target: the   
target being Drash and his coralskipper.  
  
Asteroids, plasma and turboblaster fire spun and flashed   
around them, but Drash was exhilarated as he led his pursuer on a   
merry chase through the chaos. The Force was a raging maelstrom   
around him as Chiss and human lives flashed into nothingness, the   
feeling was beyond anything he'd experienced before. He glanced   
back with his sensor-eyes and was surprised to see the other skip   
was no longer chasing him, was nowhere to be seen in fact. Had   
his opponent succumbed to a stray bolt of blasterfire or-  
  
Instinct and a flash of light his sensors caught in their   
peripheral vision made him roll right just as a bolt of plasma shot   
past from beneath him. The alien-controlled skip had hidden itself   
in the mass-shadow of an asteroid hurling blindly below, now it   
shot up at him like a bullet from a projectile-gun, blasting plasma.   
Drash increased speed and streaked forward to avoid the enemy   
skip, which passed through his path from behind and continued up.  
  
Drash cut his speed and banked, turning his skip in the   
direction of his opponent. He saw the other living craft was doing   
likewise and they charged each other at top speed. Both held their   
fire, knowing that without shielding voids they would have to   
swerve at the first hint of plasmafire, knowing neither could afford   
to shoot until he was sure he would hit his target.  
  
Then an asteroid spun through their path, blocking Drash's   
view of the other skip and vice-versa. Drash reduced speed and   
pulled up, intending to gain a height advantage over the other skip   
only to find it doing the same. They were almost nose-to-nose and   
they fired and dodged, then they were both climbing and spiraling   
around on another, one moment Drash was behind the enemy skip,   
the next he was the pursued.  
  
Drash had him in his sights, he was squeezing off a shot,   
then the skip was beneath him and pain lanced up his ?side? as a   
plasma shot caught him.  
  
He was spinning, out of control, one second he saw Star   
Destroyers floating in the starry night of space, the next the pitted   
surface of the worldship, and with every second the worldship was   
closer. He would shatter against the coral surface and there was   
nothing he could do about it. The coralskipper's mind screamed in   
panic, but Drash was strangely calm in these last seconds of life.   
He would die in the only place he'd been remotely happy: a   
fighter's cockpit. More, he had experienced flying firsthand   
through the cognitian hood's interface. He'd been one with his   
fighter. After this, yes, he could let go of the struggle.  
  
For the first time in his life a sense of peace came over   
Drash, peace both complete and profound, and with the coming of   
that peace the dark side lost its hold on him. And everything   
changed.  
  
No, (Drash) changed. With that act of surrender he opened   
himself to the truth of the Force, a truth that wasn't found only in   
conflict or rooted in the expression of power. His calm spread into   
the mind of the coralskipper and they were again one.  
  
Without knowing why, or needing to, Drash used his dovin   
basals to reach for a point below and to the right of his path of   
descent, just as the worldship launched a missile. The organic-  
generated tractor beam latched onto the projectile as it sped toward   
the Imperials, pulling Drash away from the worldship and out of   
his spin. He released the missile and propelled himself under his   
own power, straight at the enemy skip.  
  
The Force understood conflict: the struggle to live was a   
part of life, and even Jedi recognized the need to fight evil when   
there was no other option left.  
  
"Thank you," Drash murmured to the enemy pilot as he   
loosed a volley of plasma blasts and projectiles, the skip dodged   
one shot but flew into the path of another and fragmented into   
melting, freezing segments, spinning through space. Drash flew   
through the wreckage.  
  
****************************************************  
Vergere fell backwards to the coral deck, gasping in shock,   
her violet eyes wide and staring. It was not pain or fear that   
stunned her so, but wonder: she was experiencing the Force for the   
first time.  
  
Since before she was born a shadow had lain over the   
Force, slowly growing in strength over the decades, disrupting the   
balance of the Force and slowly tilting it towards the dark side. It   
lurked at the corners of their vision, just out of sight, encouraging   
war and conflict, undermining and perverting the noble ideals of   
the Republic, hastening its fall into decadence and corruption.  
  
The Jedi were the guardians of this balance and for long   
years they had sought the source of the shadow that so threatened   
the Force, but not even the wisest Masters could discover the   
nature of the menace they all felt, like the first chilling winds   
before a hurricane.   
  
When they finally percieved the being who cast this   
shadow it was too late and the tides of war and hatred swept them   
away, leaving the Sith unopposed. From Coruscant, where the Sith   
lord dwelled like a spider in a vast, black web, waves of darkness   
rippled out to the farthest planets in the Rim.  
  
Misery, pain, hatred and fear increased, feeding the dark   
side, and as the dark side grew in power beings found themselves   
more inclined toward violence, conflict and despair, which in turn   
fed the dark side and made it still stronger in a cycle that pushed   
the Force further and further out of balance.  
  
But today, this very moment, something monumentous had   
occurred: the being who cast the great shadow, who had been like   
a stormcloud over the bright sun, was gone. Vergere felt the true   
power and beauty of the Force at last. She felt like a slave who   
had worn heavy chains for so long she no longer noticed them,   
only to have them finally struck off, or a patient who has carried a   
parasite coiled in her guts for decades, then at last having it   
excised. There could be only one reason for this.  
  
The Emperor was dead!  
  
For a long moment Vergere wanted to sleep, to allow the   
euphoria and shock to carry her into oblivion, at least for awhile.   
She had journeyed so far, done so much, and now that the great   
battles were over she could afford to rest. Her eyelids creeped   
down-  
  
-and her eyes snapped open again. No, there was still work   
to be done. The worldship had to be finished, and Oin...she had   
forgotten about Oin...was he safe? Dead? She had no way to   
know: her vision had come to pass and the Force gave her no hint   
of what the future held for her friend. She would have to look for   
him.  
  
But first things first. Vergere dragged herself to the base of   
the pedastal, a few seconds of searching yielded up the touch-pad.   
She stroked the surface and a compartment mouth opened in the   
base, she reached in and found a cognitian hood and attaching   
umbilical cord. She slipped the hood on and felt it make the   
mental connection.  
  
Command ships had such creatures in case an emergency   
occurred with the yammosk that put the war coordinator out of   
commission and the commander needed to issue orders quickly.   
The hood linked her to the (Long Reach)'s rikyam, which could   
send out messages via its own villips to any ship, asteroid or   
coralskipper.  
  
Vergere didn't try to contact the gunnery commanders or   
the coralskippers: she would never be able to fool a Yuuzhan Vong   
into thinking she was Sang Anor, but the desk hai were another   
matter. She quickly found those seven distinct life-signs.   
Confuses and frightened, they were retreating to the comforting   
mass of the worldship. Perfect.  
  
Thinking in the Yuuzhan Vong language, Vergere issued   
her orders. The semi-intelligent desk hai didn't question her, they   
were happy to have some kind of guidence again. They moved   
into position and prepared to fire one last time.  
  
Now all she had to do was find Oin, get him to a safe   
planet, then find a way to return to the Yuuzhan Vong and try to   
guide events so that the right future, the future she had glimpsed in   
her visions, came to pass.  
  
Oh, and she had to do all this with a broken leg.  
  
"Well," she muttered, "no one ever said being a Jedi was   
easy." She crawled to the stairs spiraling up the pedastal and used   
them to pull herself up to a sitting position. Reluctantly she looked   
down at her leg and winced on seeing how it bent. She had to use   
Jedi pain suppression techniques just to keep functioning. The   
Fosh braced her hands against the pillar and stood upright. She   
was able to keep her balance with no difficulty, thankfully she was   
not humanoid and her sense of equilibrium was such that she could   
function perfectly well with one leg. She would have to hop.  
  
Now she reached out with the Force and called her   
lightsaber. With some difficulty it began to work its way out of   
the yammosk's body. She had to work fast, soon the desk hai   
would-  
  
"Vergere!" The Jedi spun, grimaced at the pain in her leg,   
and laughed in joy and relief at seeing Oin framed in the doorway.  
  
The Nesz laughed and ran toward her, arms flung wide to   
embrace the Jedi. Vergere understood the feeling well: they're   
losses were great, but at least they still had each other, at least they   
didn't have to face the future alone.  
  
Oin stopped at arm's length from her and refrained from   
hugging his friend. He saw her broken leg he suspected she had   
other injuries, it might be dangerous to play too rough with her.   
The Fosh took a hop toward him and threw her arms around him.   
Oin relaxed and embraced Vergere in turn, he twined his long neck   
around her.  
  
But they had little time and they both knew it. Vergere   
broke off the hug and resumed calling her lightsaber. "You're   
well?" She asked Oin.  
  
"Yes," the Nesz nodded, "and you?"  
  
"I can get around," the Jedi weapon flew into her hand and   
she buckled it to her belt. "We need to move, now."  
  
Oin nodded and turned to the door, but paused a moment   
when he saw Sang Anor's corpse. "Is this him?" He nudged the   
body with his clawed toe, so that he could get a good look at the   
bloody face.  
  
"Yes," Vergere said, "that was Sang Anor."  
  
"He doesn't look any different from the rest of them," Oin's   
slit-eyes were unreadable, "but they all look alike to me anyway."   
The dead Executor's amphistaff had returned to him, it coiled   
around its master's corpse and reared, baring its fangs at the   
possible defilers.  
  
"He looked different when he was alive," she took Oin's   
arm and gently propelled him to the doorway, "you would've been   
able to pick him out in a crowd of thousands. But we have no time   
for this, we must-"  
  
The worldship shuddered and bucked beneath them, Oin   
was cast to the deck and Vergere barely kept her balance. The   
ceiling cracked and she hopped out of the way to avoid a falling   
chunk of coral.  
  
"What's happening?" Oin cried.  
  
"The death of a worldship."  
  
*****************************************************  
Thrawn's one remaining worry had been the desk hai: with   
his Star Destroyers packed so close together it was conceivable the   
planet-killers could shoot into the mass and take out multiple   
capital ships. He was counting on the fighters and smaller picket   
ships and frigates to prevent them from getting within firing range,   
but he still expected to lose several more capital ships before this   
was over: larger segments were breaking off under the fleet's   
barrage, which was digging a deep crater in the (Long Reach), but   
the worldship had mass to spare. Thrawn's greatest concern was   
that Sang Anor would attempt a retreat using the desk hai as cover.   
If the (Long Reach of Death) escaped then this war in the   
Unknown Regions could drag on for years.  
  
"Sir," Parck reported, "Commander Raine is onboard and   
heading for the bridge."  
  
"Thank you, Captain," Thrawn tried not to sigh in relief. If   
what he suspected was true, then he would be doubly thankful for   
Taesk's sacrifice.  
  
"Admiral," Commander Veenir spoke up, "the planet killers   
are moving!" Thrawn felt Parck tense beside him.  
  
"Toward which of our vessels?" He would need to send the   
fighters to run interference and the picket ships to make the kill.  
  
"None, their falling back to the worldship, and sensors   
detect a gravitational surge. They're preparing to fire."  
  
At what? There was no way their projectiles could reach   
the Imperial ships from their current positions.  
  
Thrawn didn't need to wonder for long, as the seven desk   
hai fired all at once, into the worldship.  
  
The fired into roughly the same spot, and before the   
Imperials' eyes cavern-sized cracks radiated from the spot.   
Abruptly, the plasma cannons were silenced and the dovin basals   
went dead. Segments of dead coral twice the size of the   
(Imperator) spun away from the impact, and that still wasn't all.  
  
Unbelievably, the (Long Reach of Death) began to split in   
half. 'Skin' of kilometer-thick coral crust peeled back and vital   
organs the size of Star Destroyers spilled out into the void.   
Thrawn looked under the skin and glimpsed a skeletal structure of   
curving bone pillars, endless tubes that must comprise a circulatory   
system and a hivework of insect-sized halls, floors and rooms. But   
the insides were already breaking apart and drifting into space. A   
swarm of coral escape pods and other ships flew from the   
worldship's craters and canyons.  
  
He heard the turbolift doors open behind him, then Raine   
was walking down the long bridge deck to stand beside Thrawn   
and Parck. "Homeworld is avenged," she whispered.  
  
"So it is," Thrawn nodded, but the victory seemed empty,   
inconsequential even. Homeworld was still ruined and Vraet still   
dead, what mattered wasn?t revenge, but that the devastation would   
never be repeated. Those under his protection wouldn't have to   
fear the Yuuzhan Vong and their bloodthirsty ways.  
  
"Pull the fleet back," he ordered, ?the debris could be   
dangerous. The (Long Reach) can finish itself off," and he needed   
time to consider how he would handle a certain...delicate...subject.  
  
*******************************************************  
Drash swerved to avoid chunks of dead coral. Under   
ordinary circumstances he wouldn't have cared whether or not he   
crashed. He might even seek out a piece of debris to ram into:   
after being part of a kill this big, what was left? Now, however, he   
found he had no desire to give up on living just yet.  
  
Everything had changed, or maybe he was seeing the   
universe with new eyes. All his life he'd sought the trancendence   
Frae had promised, and in excepting death he had found it. He was   
no longer that frightened little boy, cowering in the basement of   
his own mind, hiding from the world. He was no longer a   
frightened (anything), the fear that had ruled his life was gone and,   
for the first time in his life, Drash Tevock was free.  
  
His heart surged with joy and the coralskipper echoed the   
sensation as they soared through the wreckage. Drash was free,   
mind and body, and he had a fighter who felt the same way. They   
could go anywhere, do anything, the whole galaxy was theirs. He   
wasn't exactly sure where he would go now, but he knew it   
wouldn't be back to Unity Fleet: he'd had enough of the Empire.  
  
Besides, they would take away his coralskipper, dissect it   
maybe, and Drash already loved his new fighter. Yuuzhan Vong   
escape pods were drifting around him, Drash's sensors saw a   
giant's shadow and he swiftly flew behind a coral segment as a   
Yuuzhan Vong battlecruiser, perhaps the last one left, sailed near   
to hurriedly gather up the pods. If Drash didn't intend to return to   
the Empire, that went double for the Vong.  
  
Drash put some distance between his fighter and the larger   
ship. He'd need to jump as soon as possible, he was on his way to   
just such a route when he heard a call through the Force. More, it   
was a call for help.  
  
For a moment Drash considered ignoring it. He was free   
now, why risk himself, and there was sure to be risk, for someone   
he probably didn't know? Best not to get involved.  
  
(Vlu took a risk for you), a cold voice he felt rather than   
heard, the voice of the Force, or perhaps from somewhere within   
himself, (Vlu died for you, is this how you will honor his sacrifice?   
If so then it would be better had you died in that temple).  
  
He turned toward the call and found its source: a coral   
escape pod caught in the dead planet's gravity well. It was heading   
into the atmosphere and would soon be out of the battleship's   
reach. Now that he was closer, he could sense (two) presences   
aboard, not one. And the one who?d called him was familiar.  
  
"Vergere," he breathed.  
  
*******************************************************  
Stent felt sick.  
  
As sick as poisoned Homeworld must feel, his skin   
shuddered as Homeworld's quake-beset crust must be. Learning of   
his home planet's fate was like seeing his own heart cut from his   
chest and burned in front of him, and now, seeing Beyin's corpse   
sprawled on the blasted, ash-covered ground, it was all he could do   
to hold onto his Chiss control.  
  
"The artifact is secured in the lander," the voice from his   
comm link might have come from another galaxy.  
  
"Thank you," was that his voice? How could it be so   
steady? "Send a sensor team to my position, the general has been   
killed." He was a Chiss, that was how.  
  
"Commander-?"  
  
"You heard me correctly, lieutenant. Home in on my   
position."  
  
One of the ground troops he was with, a Chiss, knelt to   
arrange the body in a more dignified position. "Leave him," Stent   
said, "the investigators will need him to remain undisturbed."  
  
The soldier looked up, the eyes behind the face mask held   
some of the disdain ground pounders had for flyboys. "He was our   
commander," he said coldly.  
  
"And he would be telling you the same thing if he could,"   
Stent replied.  
  
The soldier frowned, Stent could tell it by his eyes. "Yes,   
he would." He stood and waited.  
  
A hovering tank arrived with an investigative team. Stent   
entered the tank to make his report. He was instructed that, since   
the planetary attack was officially a phalanx mission, he would be   
patched through to the phalanx commander. Strange, how a Chiss   
household phalanx was in the Grand Admiral's service, and that he   
was a Syndic again.  
  
With all these surprises, it was no wonder he started when   
the image took shape in the holoprojector's light. It was a female,   
a female in a (uniform)!  
  
"Commander Stent," she greeted.  
  
"Who are you?" Stent blurted the question.  
  
The female narrowed her glowing eyes slightly, "Phalanx   
Commander Haar'ain'ellena," she said, "I will hear your report   
now."  
  
"But I should tell someone..." he trailed off with the word   
(male) hanging unspoken. Raine's expression didn't change, but   
he got the creeping sensation she had heard his thoughts, "in the   
Imperial fleet," he concluded lamely.  
  
"I will see that your news reaches the Syndic," Raine   
replied.  
  
"Of course," Stent wanted to end this conversation quickly,   
there was something in her manner that made him feel he was   
behaving inappropriately, but surely it was the entire (situation)   
that was inappropriate. Females could not become officers; it   
wasn't...well...it wasn't how things were (done).  
  
"General Beyin has been killed," he said. "An investigative   
team is looking into it. The enemy base is secured and the General   
and his pilot were the only casualties, but there may be at least one   
active Yuuzhan Vong remaining. I personally doubt it: there is a   
shallow depression near the general's corpse, I suspect it housed a   
buried Vong craft that has since taken off. We cannot know for   
sure, the sensors on the General's AT-ST were making a visual   
recording of their progress, but the assailants entered the General's   
AT-ST after the assault and destroyed the recordings. We have   
also obtained an alien artifact from the time my flight group spent   
here. A native artifact, not Yuuzhan Vong. It is loaded and ready   
for transport, pending investigation by Imperial scientists to   
determine its safety."  
  
"Thank you, Commander," Raine reached for the controls,   
"I will look forward to reading a more detailed report from you   
later." The image vanished and Stent breathed a sigh of relief,   
only then realizing he had actually been (intimidated) by a female.  
  
He shook his head, things had changed indeed.  
  
*******************************************************  
"Thank you for the use of your comm system," Raine said   
as Stent's image was replaced by a piece of holographic art. She   
frowned, "This Stent seems an able enough individual, but his   
attitude might need adjusting."  
  
Sitting at apparent ease in his command chair, Thrawn   
barely heard her. So Beyin was dead. He and Taesk both. It   
seemed hard to believe; in spite of everything his intellect could   
provide about the dangers Beyin exposed himself to in combat, or   
of Taesk's advanced age, in his heart he had believed they would   
live forever, those two constants in his life.  
  
He could recall the many evening they had spent together   
on Homeworld before his exile, that was Thrawn's gift: to   
remember everything with perfect clarity. Beyin had been one of   
Taesk's pupils, as Thrawn had been one of Beyin's, and Thrawn's   
House had always been close friends with Taesk's, it was natural   
those three should gravitate together.  
  
They had spent hours discussing battle strategies, history,   
art, literature and politics. Away from the disapproving stares of   
the Syndics, the three of them had expressed their disgust at the   
backward policies of the High Families. Their inward-looking   
nature, their favoritism of lineage over ability, their refusal to look   
at anything beyond their boarders and their prejudice against   
anything not Chiss.  
  
Truthfully, young Thrawn was often frustrated with Beyin   
and Taesk as well, for they seemed convinced that nothing could   
change things. He was convinced he knew better: Taesk and Beyin   
were intelligent and open-minded, yes, but they were (old).   
Thrawn grimaced as he recalled himself in those days: young and   
full of passion, brilliant and knowing it, ready to go out and   
conquer the universe.  
  
He had learned some hard truths since then, change was   
rarely easy or without opposition for one. He'd experienced that in   
the Grand Council, when all the Families had turned on him.   
Thrawn had leaned of something of his own limitations as well,   
when he'd first come into the Emperor's service. He had looked   
into those yellow eyes and seen wisdom, and hunger, millennia   
older than the ancient, hooded frame they sat in. A terrible   
wisdom that perceived all the hidden places in a being's mind, a   
hunger for lives to dominate and other wills to crush. In the   
Emperor's gaze Thrawn had seen a power as old as life itself. The   
power of the dark side.  
  
And look how far he had come since then: Homeworld was   
gone, his people committed to a war that would destroy them, his   
family was gone, and Taesk and Beyin were dead.  
  
(I'm the last one left), he thought, (the last of our little   
club).  
  
"-I'll require a ship or the funds to purchase one," Raine   
was saying. "I trust you still have those recommendations I made   
for my successor?"  
  
"So you are still intent on leaving?" Thrawn folded his   
hands.  
  
"As I've said before, I will remain in your service long   
enough to see the aliens defeated and Homeworld avenged. That   
done, I will go my own way."  
  
"Indeed," suspecting what he did, Thrawn had to appreciate   
her courage and will, "there is no need to hurry, though. If any of   
this haste is due to your present condition you may unburden that   
worry. I would be happy to make a medic available to you if you   
wish, by the way."  
  
"For what purpose?" She asked calmly, her face and voice   
gave no hint of anxiety.  
  
"For your child," Thrawn replied. "I imagine you have been   
examined by a physician on Homeworld, a very discreet one, but   
my medical resources are at your disposal."  
  
Thrawn never saw the charric leave its holster, but in the   
space of a breath she had drawn the weapon and was aiming it at   
his heart. Her expression hadn't altered a hair.  
  
"Contact one of the phalanx ships," she ordered in a calm,   
level voice, "the (Dutiful Servant), and tell the captain to dispatch   
a shuttle to the (Imperator). You will then order Captain Parck to   
take it aboard and to allow it to leave at my discretion."  
  
Thrawn nodded in approval but didn't otherwise move.   
"The (Dutiful) was one of Taesk's ships, there is no way I could   
have a homing beacon installed on one of its shuttles. Very sound   
thinking, Commander, but drawing a weapon on your Syndic is not   
appropriate behavior."  
  
"The charric is on a nonlethal setting," she replied. "Are   
there guards outside? I would prefer to stun you and leave but I   
will take you hostage if necessary."  
  
"No, there are no guards, no one will prevent you from   
departing if that is your choice," he was more impressed with her   
with every passing moment. "I don't wish to harm you."  
  
Raine smiled a little at that. "Of course you don't," her   
voice had a slight edge to it now, "I'm carrying a valuable   
commodity."  
  
"'Commodity?'" Thrawn echoed. "A vulgar term."  
  
"An honest one, for that is all offspring are to Chiss nobles.   
If I bear a male you will raise him to be a perfect copy of you, and   
ruin him as you ruined Vraet if he fails to meet your expectations."   
Her eyes burned with anger. "If a female then you'll see her   
wedded and bedded as soon as possible so that you can obtain a   
male of your bloodline to mold as you wish."  
  
"And you could do better?"  
  
"I don't feel a need to justify myself to you, but yes, I would   
do better. My child will know its own worth. I'll teach it to be   
strong and honorable, but I will love it as well, and I will never let   
anyone harm it."  
  
Thrawn smiled. "I believe you, and I can think of no one   
better suited to raise Vraet's child than its mother."  
  
Raine blinked, but the charric remained level. "What are   
you saying."  
  
"That I would be honored if you would enter into the   
Kolm'riizh Pact with me."  
  
(This) clearly startled her. "The Blood Bond? You want to   
(adopt) me?"  
  
"With all rights, privileges and responsibilities being a   
member of my House entails," Thrawn affirmed. "You would   
retain your position as phalanx commander, rule as regent over the   
Chiss under my protection while I am away on the Emperor's   
business, and your child will be my legitimate heir, and yours to   
raise as you see fit."  
  
Raine slowly shook her head. "You're lying, trying to lull   
me into dropping my guard."  
  
"I can have the ceremony performed now, this very   
moment via hologram as soon as I can contact a Chiss priest, and   
I'll do better than summon witnesses: I'll broadcast the Bonding to   
every world under my protection," he tilted his head to one side.   
"You'll have the protection of my House and phalanx, for I could   
never put you aside then: my Chiss followers would never stand   
for such a breach of honor."  
  
Raine narrowed her eyes. "Your reputation for   
unpredictability is well-deserved, Syndic. What do you get in   
return?"  
  
"A family," Thrawn replied, "a chance to experience what I   
turned my back on when I left Homeworld, and the knowledge that   
my followers will be well and fairly ruled. I am not of the same ilk   
as those Syndics you knew on Homeworld. If I was then why do   
they despise me so?" The Admiral leaned forward. "You must   
trust someone, Raine. I ask that it be me."  
  
"And if I refuse?"  
  
"Then you may leave. I will provide you with a ship of   
your own, money, and all the supplies you wish. You will be free   
to go wherever you like, alone." (To bear and raise your child   
alone), he did not need to add, (to wander the stars as vagabonds.   
To abandon your duty and your people).  
  
Not even Thrawn could read the thoughts behind her   
expressionless face. She gave no hint of indecisiveness or   
hesitation: this was someone, he knew, who would (never) show   
weakness to an enemy. It was entirely possible she would reject his   
offer and choose to depart. "I trusted Vraet," she finally said, "if   
you loved him as you claim, then I will trust you as well," she   
holstered her charric, but her glowing eyes never left Thrawn's.   
"But if you do betray me you'd best not leave me alive afterward,"   
she warned.  
  
*******************************************************  
When the 'mouth' of the escape pod sealed around the   
coralskipper cockpit Drash was able to open the hatch and climb   
into the coral pod. The interior was lit by a lambent crystal held   
by a familiar robed and feathered shape.  
  
"Hello there, Vergere," Drash glanced at her companion   
and tried to recall his name from their time together in the   
swamps, "Oin, is it?" The Nesz nodded an affirmation.  
  
"Drash," Vergere regarded him as if she'd never seen the   
human before, "I thought it was you I felt, but I wasn't sure," she   
stirred and Drash saw her leg had been broken and reset, but the   
limb needed a splint. "You've changed."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose; I've traded up on fighters and I'm not   
flying the Imp flag anymore, so you don't need to worry about me   
turning you over to the Empire," he jerked his head back in the   
direction of the cockpit. "Come on, it'll be a tight fit but you're   
both small enough to squeeze in with me. I'll drop you off   
wherever you want."  
  
"The Force is bountiful," Vergere said, "it's given me just   
what I needed." Drash wondered if she was going into shock. If   
so, he would have to carry her into the skip. "You have changed in   
a more fundamental way, Drash. You're a Jedi."  
  
Drash stared at the Fosh, then barked a laugh. "You're   
crazy or you're kidding, and right now I don't care which: we've   
gotta be gone before my old friends or yours come looking for us."  
  
"I'm serious," Vergere watched him with steady eyes, "and   
I'm not going anywhere." Oin looked at her, startled.  
  
"Look, I (can't) be a festering Jedi," Drash protested. "I   
don't have a robe, I don't know any of your little rules and mantras,   
I can't even swing a lightsaber." He ticked off the reasons on one   
hand.  
  
"Being a Jedi isn't about the training or the tools," Vergere   
countered, "those are just...window dressing...being a Jedi is a state   
of (being), it comes from here," she tapped her temple, "and here,"   
she touched her chest, hand resting over her heart. "It's about   
recognizing your powers and controlling them. It's about a   
decision to become a servant of the Force.  
  
"When we first met the dark side had a powerful hold on   
you. You were self-centered and self-destructive; you rejected life   
and sought your own death in an environment of conflict."  
  
"Well I don't feel that way anymore, I admit that," Drash   
crossed his arms, then stretched his legs: kneeling in the cramped   
escape pod was tough on human-sized beings. "But you'll excuse   
me if I say this sounds like the sort of pitch Frae and Krelt used."  
  
"But I'm not finished," Vergere smiled, "you've already   
achieved your moment of transcendence," Drash's eyes widened,   
"yes, when you knew death was imminent and surrendered yourself   
to it. That moment of peace was your great sacrifice: your old life   
died and the dark side lost its power over you."  
  
"So I?m not in the dark side anymore, that doesn't make me   
a Jedi."  
  
"You chose to help us when you could have gone your own   
way," Vergere pointed out. "That wasn't what you would have   
done before."  
  
"But that wasn't any big decision, it was just...a small step."  
  
"And you'll keep making those small steps," the Fosh Jedi   
smiled, "those decisions to help instead of harm or ignore. You're   
a servant, and a warrior, for all life everywhere."  
  
"This is crazy," Drash leaned against the pod wall. "So I'm   
a Jedi, now what?"  
  
"And what's this about you staying here?" Oin demanded   
in Basic. "The Nesz need you! I can't find a suitable planet   
myself, I can't even read a navicomputer."  
  
Vergere watched them both with sympathetic eyes. "Oin, if   
I could I would continue with you to the end of your journey," she   
turned to Drash, "and I would take you on as my apprentice and   
give you the guidance you need," she shook her head, "but I can't."   
She looked to Drash, "and I was never worried that you would   
give me to the Empire: the Emperor is dead, I felt it."  
  
Drash shrugged, "I wont shed any tears for him."  
  
"None will," Vergere nodded, "Palpatine was the greatest   
evil we have known in centuries, perhaps millennia, and for   
decades he was the dominant power in the galaxy. Through him   
the dark side became stronger than it was ever meant to be. The   
Force became imbalanced even in the worlds outside of Palpatine's   
direct control. Beings were more inclined toward greed, more   
willing to solve their difficulties with conflict and war, which in   
turn helped strengthen the dark side." Vergere shuddered.  
  
"In the end, the Emperor was no longer truly human; the   
being called 'Palpatine' was consumed by the dark side, even he   
would have shuddered at the creature he'd become. What   
remained was a (force), a cold intelligence that only knew the   
desire to dominate (everything) around it. The Emperor had   
become the epitome of the Sith Order."  
  
"So you're saying evil's been destroyed, that's nice, but   
what's it have to do with Oin and me?"  
  
"I'm getting to that, first off 'evil' hasn't been destroyed: the   
dark side still exists, as it must for the universe to function, but the   
(greatest) evil has fallen, as has the dominant force in the galaxy.   
Many lesser evils remain, and they will now fight to fill the   
vacuum made by the Emperor's defeat.  
  
"When the Eternals showed me the future I saw more than   
they intended. I saw futures so dark and terrible they threatened to   
drive me mad. I saw the Empire reborn and stronger than ever. I   
saw slavery and destruction stretching across worlds, entire solar   
systems evaporated by the will of a single, mad being. I saw the   
Death Seed loosed across the galaxy and all the stars coming under   
its shadow. I saw war and turmoil engulf civilization.  
  
"But I saw other paths as well, difficult and more unlikely,   
but still there: the Jedi Order restored, though not the Jedi Order I   
knew, and a New Republic born from the Empire's ashes." She   
sighed. "So many futures, so many clashing fates, Master Yoda   
was brave indeed to study that tangled web, and strong as well, to   
keep it from driving away his sanity."  
  
"And you're mission is to stop these bad futures from   
happening?" Oin asked.  
  
"No Oin," she rested a hand on his shoulder, "no, that is not   
my fight, others must see to it," that family she had glimpsed in her   
vision, together they could do it. The journey would be difficult,   
but they were a focus for the power of the Force, and they could   
counter the dark side. "Remember, even if the galaxy is made into   
a semblance of what it was before the Emperor came into his   
power, the Yuuzhan Vong jihad is still coming."  
  
"So you're going to return to them," Oin concluded, "try   
and beat them from within."  
  
"Not precisely," Vergere replied, remembering the path   
Thracia had shown her so long ago. Through the Eternals she had   
seen that path through to the very end, to her own death. She knew   
what things must come toe pass, and what must at all costs be   
avoided.  
  
"The Yuuzhan Vong are a force that (will) reshape this   
galaxy, and not in an entirely negative way. The Force requires   
that they win some victories before the end. "I must learn all there   
is to know of them, even think like them when I must, and try to   
ensure that they win when the must, and lose when they must."  
  
Drash was watching her with something between wonder   
and fear warring within him. She was going back to the Yuuzhan   
Vong, knowing what they would probably do to her, just because   
the Force said she must? She might as well be contemplating a   
trip to hell!  
  
Yet there was no fear in her eyes. He looked at her and   
saw strength, but not the kind of strength that Frae and Krelt had,   
the strength that came from dominating and tormenting those   
weaker than themselves. Was this what it is to be a Jedi?  
  
Drash suddenly wished there had been more of these   
strange and wonderful beings called 'Jedi' when he was growing   
up. They would never have let Frae do whatever he wished with   
children?s lives. They would have saved Drash, they would have   
taught him to be...someone he could be happy being.  
  
The pilot felt his throat thickening, his eyes were going   
blurry, was he...was he (crying)?  
  
No, he turned and bowed his head, as if intent on   
examining his still-bare foot for infected cuts while he slowly   
brought himself under control.  
  
"Then," Oin swallowed, and there was fear in his eyes she   
hadn't seen before, even when he'd known his people wouldn't   
survive: the fear of going on alone. "Who will see me to the Nesz's   
new world?"  
  
In answer, Vergere looked from him to Drash, Oin   
followed her eyes, incredulous.  
  
Not more so than Drash himself. "What new world?" He   
asked. "Am I missing something here?" Vergere smiled; Drash   
hadn?t refused to help outright, another sign of how much his   
nature had changed. For all his hardened exterior, in the Force   
Drash was like an infant, ready to begin his life.  
  
"Oin can fill you in on the details. Basically we want you   
to find a planet similar to Sevac III in both environment and   
obscurity, and see him there unharmed."  
  
"What about you?" Oin asked.  
  
"You have to leave me here, in this pod, just drag me to a   
spot where the Vong rescue ship will be sure to come across it,"   
she removed her robe and belt, "take these with you, I have a plan   
for when they take me aboard." She handed the Jedi vestments to   
Oin, then turned to Drash. "You'll need this," she was offering him   
something. Drash took it and held it up to the lambant's light. It   
was her lightsaber.  
  
"The Yuuzhan Vong would just destroy it," Vergere said, "I   
think you'll need this more than I, until you can make your own."  
  
"I," he licked his lips, "I don't know how to use this thing."  
  
"You'll learn. Examine it and you'll learn how it   
functions."  
  
"But...after I take care of Oin, where do I go? What will I   
do? How do I (be) a Jedi?"  
  
"Just listen," she said, "the Force will guide you to where   
you need to be. It wont be easy though," she rested a comforting   
hand on his arm.  
  
"Goodbye Oin," they embraced and the Nesz climbed past   
Drash into the coralskipper.  
  
"Feel free to use my weapon's focusing crystal when you   
build a lightsaber of your own. I doubt I'll ever see it again."  
  
"No," Drash said quietly, "I'll keep it for you. Something   
tells me we'll meet again."  
  
"Perhaps," Vergere nodded, "I hope so."  
  
Drash climbed into the cockpit and settled the cognition   
hood over his head.  
  
"May the Force be with you both," she said as the pod hatch   
sealed. 


	17. epiloge

Epilogue  
  
Zeld Kwaad examined the beast that crouched in the   
cramped cell. Truthfully, everything was cramped and crowded in   
the Yuuzhan Vongs' last remaining battleship, speeding through   
hyperspace across the infidel Empire, not daring to use any major   
routes for fear of discovery.  
  
The animal was in stasis, having responded well to the   
chemicals Zeld Kwaad had introduced into its bloodstream,   
hopefully it would sleep through most of their long journey.  
  
The bulk of survivors from the doomed (Long Reach of   
Death) were gathered aboard this last ship, most of them also in   
suspended animation to save the craft's limited resources. A few   
would be taken out and periodically sacrificed, though, to help   
ensure a safe journey for the rest.  
  
When the (Long Reach) was lost to the infidels some weeks   
ago, one of the intendants had thought to stop at Sang Anor's   
quarters and bring his villip connecting them to the supreme   
overlord. After hearing of this debacle the supreme one had issued   
them their marching orders: the majority of the surviving Yuuzhan   
Vong were to board their last functioning battleship and make for   
the Outer Rim, there to exit this infidel galaxy and eventually meet   
the oncoming Yuuzhan Vong fleet.  
  
A handful of warriors, executors and shapers would remain   
behind, with ooglith masquers, villips and a few other organic   
tools, including villips cloned from the supreme overlord's   
communications creature so they might maintain lines of   
communication.  
  
The few who remained would gather information about the   
Infidels' activities and, when the time of invasion drew near, do   
what they could to divide, sabotage and generally destabalize   
them.  
  
Zeld Kwaad sighed, the jihad had seemed so close to   
beginning in earnest, but now he would have to wait more than   
twenty long years to ever see this galaxy and all its beautiful,   
unshaped life again. The gods, apparently, hadn't been with them   
this time.  
  
(But next time), he thought to himself, (next time)...  
  
He came to another cell, this one held an avian creature   
with a broken leg. The shapers had saved all the specimens they   
could from the dying worldship: analyzing the native life of this   
galaxy would provide invaluable information about which shaping   
protocols would be best applied to their soon-to-be new worlds.  
  
This bird-animal had been found in an escape pod,   
probably wandered in there and triggered the launch by accident.   
Its broken leg was encased in a coral cast, and healing microbes   
were repairing the damage. Personally, Zeld Kwaad would have   
preferred to have the defective thing killed out of hand, but with so   
few specimens left to choose from the shapers could not afford to   
waste even one.  
  
He prepared the creature's injections: it too would need to   
make the trip in hibernation, awake and aware it would consume   
too many resources. The shaper adept frowned, for a moment the   
creature seemed to be smiling at him. He shrugged, obviously he   
was working too hard.  
  
And so the living craft left this galaxy, to eventually   
rendezvous with the approaching worldship-fleet where one small,   
odd-looking and comical bird would catch the eye of High Priest   
Jakan, who would at that moment be thinking about obtaining a   
gift for his young daughter Elan.  
  
*****************************************************  
Drash steered his coralskipper into the specialized 'berth'   
He'd designed for it inside the small freighter's cargo hold. It was   
cramped, but unlike Drash the fighter had no sense of   
claustrophobia.  
  
He climbed out of the craft and gave it a quick look-over.   
Later he would go over it in detail, looking for injuries or   
infestations. Luckily the fighter could heal itself of injuries, so it   
needed little maintenance. Good news all around, as Drash didn't   
know of a shipyard equipped to care for a coralskipper.  
  
Drash stroked the cockpit, a marvelous ship. He had just   
taken it out for its ?meal? of space rocks, which it would also use to   
manufacture plasma and projectiles, and now the ship had   
informed him that it was tired and wished to 'sleep.' If it was   
temperamental, well, fighters were expected to be a little wild.  
  
What worried him were the ship's innards, he had no idea   
of how long the dovin basals would live, or when the cognition   
hood and other internal organs would wear out. Perhaps he could   
have the creatures cloned somehow when it became necessary.  
  
He left the cargo hold and strolled to the small cockpit,   
Vergere's lightsaber at his side. He had won the ship gambling at a   
spaceport tapcaf, though 'gambling' wasn't exactly the correct term   
when he could read the other players' minds. Maybe it wasn't a   
Jedi thing to do, but he had no funds and nothing to sell. He had   
landed the coralskipper in a rural field away from the city and port,   
disguising the landing so that the skip would appear to the   
watching satellites as nothing but a falling meteor.  
  
And of course, he hadn't worn the lightsaber in town. He   
still didn't know how to use the thing, but he would learn. He   
would have to. Drash had experienced his moment of   
transcendence and what lay beyond was better than anything Frae   
could have imagined.  
  
Oin was waiting for him in the cockpit, in the copilot's   
seat: Drash was teaching him to fly.  
  
"Did your skip settle in all right?" He asked in the Nesz   
language, which he was teaching Drash to speak.  
  
"Smooth as duroplast," he settled in the pilot's chair.   
"Ready to jump?" Oin nodded, one hand went to his ever-present   
bandolier. "Next stop, the Core."  
  
An all-but-impenetrable tangle of high-gravity anomalies,   
the Core was the perfect place for a colony that didn't want to be   
found. All they needed to do was find a world in that hell of solar   
radiation with an atmosphere life could thrive in.  
  
Drash would set Oin up and visit him as often as he could   
in his little colony. And after the seeds took root, where would   
Drash go then? Perhaps back to the Unknown Regions, to wander   
the stars and do...well...Jedi things. Even if the Jedi (were) making   
a comeback, chances were they'd have their hands full in the   
known galaxy. The Unknown Regions would need a Jedi, and   
Drash might be new at this, but he felt the Force was calling him in   
that direction.  
  
He hoped he would make Vergere proud, and Vlu. He   
hoped to see her again someday and give her back her lightsaber.   
Only the future can tell.  
  
The stars elongated into white lines and they shot forward,   
into the light.  
  
***************************************************  
Hidden in the stolen infidel shuttle, parked in an ice-lined   
cave at the north pole of Sevac III, Ceis Grasm stared out at the   
red-grey sky and crossed her arms.  
  
"We should have died in battle," she said, "it would have   
been glorious, or at least pleasing to the gods." She looked at Nom   
Anor, sitting motionless in the pilot?s seat, hunched over the   
control panel with his hands clasped and his chin perched on his   
knuckles.  
  
"You can walk out anytime you want," he said, "and let the   
cold take you." It had been his idea, and she had to admit it was a   
clever one: to fly their shuttle to the pole where the shapers had   
hollowed out caverns for their pathogen research. They could   
survive for months here if need be, and so here they had hidden   
themselves away, to wait out the battle.  
  
The result was soon obvious, as massive chunks of the   
(Long Reach) had soon broken through the atmosphere to crash on   
the planet, throwing up clouds of dust that darkened the sky.  
  
Nom Anor spent most of his time in the shuttle, staring out   
the cavern mouth at the dust-filled sky. Not speaking, not doing   
anything. Ceis Grasm didn't like this mood of his, and nothing she   
said could shake him out of it. He just sat there watching the sky   
with unblinking eyes, it was chilling. Almost machinelike.  
  
"I think I'll wait before trying that option," she said. "How   
much longer must we remain here?"  
  
*************************************************  
"Until I'm sure the infidels have left orbit," Nom Anor said.   
"Then we leave as well, and try to find any other Yuuzhan Vong   
who might have survived." They had taken ooglith masquers when   
they had fled to the shuttle, as well as cloakers and gnulliths. Self-  
sacrifice remained an option, but Nom Anor seemed intent on   
surviving until the main host of Yuuzhan Vong arrived. If   
necessary he could use his limited shaper training to grow stasis   
microbes for them both, so they wouldn't have to 'live' through the   
entire waiting period; twenty years was a long time to just sit back   
and do nothing. They could put themselves in stasis three years   
out of every five until the jihad began, so at least they wouldn't   
have to waste half their lives.  
  
It always paid to be prepared, that had been Sang Anor's   
last lesson. Nom Anor felt rage seethe within him, but he   
controlled it. If he couldn?t rule the galaxy he would at least rule   
himself. He squeezed his clasped hands until his talons dug into   
the backs of his hands. He barely noticed Ceis Grasm behind him,   
or the blood that ran down his wrists. Nothing mattered but that   
Sang and Lyrra Anor, the two greatest, most brilliant people the   
universe had ever known, were dead and gone. They would be   
held in contempt by the rest of the Yuuzhan Vong, seen as nothing   
more than overly-ambitious failures.  
  
Nom Anor narrowed his eyes. What kind of gods would   
allow that?  
  
(Damn you all), he ground his teeth, (I will never pray to   
you again. I deny you, now and forever. You do not exist. You're   
just stories and pointless rituals). The thought was cold, as cold as   
Nom Anor's bleak and empty soul. At least he had the comfort of   
knowing the Jedi had not survived his father: she was now just   
bones and ash, with the rest of her slave friends on this poisoned   
planet.  
  
Staring out at the sky, Nom Anor made a vow. Not to the   
gods he no longer believed in, but to the only power he now   
recognized: himself. He would avenge his parents, and he would   
fulfill his father's dreams of power, whatever the cost. And he   
would make all the wretched infidels who had bested Sang Anor   
pay: the Empire, any Jedi that arose in the future, Thrawn and his   
whole benighted race, they would all suffer. Nom Anor would see   
to it.  
  
***********************************************  
Inside the Hand of Thrawn, Parck was amazed that such a   
high-tech marvel as this command center could be concealed   
within an apparently ruined and abandoned primitive fortress.   
This place could not only withstand a siege and a full-scale   
planetary bombardment, but the entire Imperial territory and fleet   
in the Unknown Regions could be run from this point.  
  
Raine didn't show it, but Parck suspected the phalanx   
commander was as impressed as he.  
  
"Not a bad setup, eh?" Moff Niriz smiled as he hovered   
past holographic diagrams of the galaxy, including the explored   
areas of the Unknown Regions.  
  
"Not bad at all," Parck said as he reclined in a comfortable   
chair. Thrawn's fortress seemed modeled after his own mind:   
impressive, mysterious, resourceful and full of secrets. If not for   
the occasional winged pests that annoyed Imperials in the sky and   
the tunnels below, Parck would have called the Hand perfect.  
  
"It's what I expected of the Syndic," Raine nodded to the   
Moff. The phalanx commander hadn't precisely warmed up to the   
Imperials she would be working with, but at least she was growing   
to respect them. Parck was glad to have her: especially seeing as   
the entire Chiss contingent of Unity Fleet had requested a transfer   
to Thrawn's phalanx. They would still work closely with the   
humans, but now human officials like Parck and Niriz would only   
have to settle the human side of cross-cultural disputes, while   
Raine would handle the Chiss grievances, then they could work out   
something of a compromise in each case.  
  
The Chiss citizens of the Empire were happy as well,   
having one of their own to turn to in times of trouble rather than   
the mainly-human Moffs. Even if Raine was female, she was still,   
they reasoned, a Chiss.  
  
Currently, Grand Admiral Thrawn was trying to reach   
Imperial Center and communicate these events to the Emperor.   
Parck hoped for the arrival of Imperial reinforcements, even for   
Palpatine's new Death Star: Unity Fleet had taken losses in the   
battle over Sevac III, and Intelligence reported the warlords were   
eyeing Thrawn's territory and licking their chops hungrily. Parck   
grimaced, such was the gratitude the Unknown Regions had for   
their saviors. He felt sure they could beat back any assault, but   
more Star Destroyers would be a relief.  
  
He and Raine stood at attention when Thrawn himself   
entered the room. Moff Niriz pivoted his hoverchair to face him.  
  
"Sir, have you gotten through to Imperial Center?" Niriz   
asked. "When can we expect reinforcements?"  
  
"There will be none," Thrawn shook his head. "The   
Rebellion has won a great victory at Endor, site of the new Death   
Star's construction. The battlestation was destroyed, and the   
Emperor is dead."  
  
Parck turned pale and his legs felt weak. The   
Emperor...dead? Impossible! "Sir are..." he swallowed, "are you   
sure?" He had never doubted the Grand Admiral before, but he   
hoped Thrawn was wrong.  
  
"I spoke with Sate Pestage, who is far more concerned with   
remaining on Palpatine's throne than sparing ships to help us, and I   
contacted some of my own sources in the Empire, who confirmed   
the news. Losses include the (Executor), with all hands aboard,   
and Darth Vader perished as well. The Imperial Fleet is scattered,   
thousands of planets are in rebellion, there is even rumor that the   
Jedi have returned."  
  
Parck felt ill, to have won such a great victory against the   
Yuuzhan Vong, only to find that the war was lost in the meantime?   
"What will we do?" He asked hopelessly.  
  
"Launch an attack on the warlords before they can strike at   
us," Raine replied, red eyes flashing. "And continue to encourage   
rebellion and desertions in their ranks. News of the Syndic's   
power and the justice of his rule will tempt many of their planets   
to join us. Undercover Intelligence agents can train natives to fight   
the warlords, we might even be able to assassinate a few."  
  
Business as usual, in other words: crushing warlords and   
uniting the Unknown Regions under the Empire. But what about   
the Empire proper? It was falling apart!  
  
Thrawn raised a brow at Raine. "You've certainly changed.   
Why so intent on seeing the Empire become dominant out here?"   
The commander met his gaze, a feat few could boast, and it   
seemed to Parck they were sparring. Not as deadly adversaries,   
though, but as colleagues.  
  
"I haven't changed, Syndic: my goal is the same, to protect   
the Chiss. By all accounts their war against the Ssi-Ruuk is going   
well, they were able to overwhelm many of Ssi-Ruuk worlds while   
their fleet was away, preparing to invade the Empire. Now,   
however, they are taking heavy losses. By the time they win the   
war most of the Expansionary Defense Fleet will have been   
destroyed. The Chiss may never recover their former strength, and   
the warlords will find them a weaker target than we could ever be."  
  
"Unless Unity Fleet conquers the surrounding warlords   
first," Thrawn finished, "then we could ensure the Chiss will be   
protected."  
  
Raine nodded, but something in her eyes and posture   
suggested defeat. "The Chiss will be under the Empire's   
protection, though the Syndics will never acknowledge it. Many   
Chiss will continue to desert for Unity Fleet, seeing yours as the   
stronger and better way. The Chiss will never again be a great   
power," she bowed her head, whether in mourning, submission or   
both, Parck couldn't say.  
  
Thrawn's expression softened, he placed a hand on her   
shoulder and said something in his own language. The   
commander raised her head, her eyes burning. For a moment   
Parck though she would pull away or strike him, but then she   
nodded and said replied in kind.  
  
Parck had to speak up. "But what about the rest of the   
Empire?" He said. "Shouldn't Unity Fleet return and help quell   
the Rebellion?"  
  
"Unity Fleet will have its hands full out here," Thrawn   
turned to the Captain. "But you're right: the Empire must be   
preserved. Remember, the Yuuzhan Vong are still coming, and to   
them Sang Anor will seem a lone pirranna beetle beside a swarm.   
The galaxy must be made ready for them, and for that the Empire   
must endure. To that end I will go myself to the Empire proper   
and see to the Rebellion."  
  
"Alone?" Niriz asked. "But there might be Yuuzhan Vong   
survivors in this galaxy. If there are, you would be high on their   
list of targets: they would have to know you intend to fight their   
people."  
  
"And don't forget other Imperials," Parck warned, "many,   
Director Ysanne Isard in particular, would see you as a threat to   
their power. They would try to eliminate you as well."  
  
"True, that is why my first stop will be the planet Honoghr,   
homeworld of the Noghri. With Noghri bodyguards I need fear no   
assassins," he looked to each of them. "While I am gone, I leave   
you three in command," he drew himself up slightly, "Captain   
Voss Parck, by my authority as a Grand Admiral of the Empire I   
now grant you the rank of Admiral. You have command of Unity   
Fleet in my absence." He turned to Niriz, "Moff Dagon Niriz, you   
are hereby promoted to Grand Moff, to have overall administration   
of the Imperial territories in the Unknown Regions."  
  
Finally, he turned his gaze to Raine. "Haar'ain'ellena, you   
will take up your duties as my regent, my phalanx and all Chiss   
citizens under my protection are yours. Rule them well."  
  
He looked at each of them. "Working together, you three   
should be able to carry on in my stead. I will return to the Hand of   
Thrawn as often as I am able, so a division of my phalanx will be   
its permanent garrison. I depart immediately, make ready a   
shuttle."  
  
"You'll go alone?" Admiral Parck asked.  
  
"As I said, I have my contacts in the Empire, and I will   
have the Noghri. He frowned thoughtfully, "but I will take copies   
of my holographic gallery," he said, "and one piece more." He   
looked to a corner of the command center, Parck followed his eyes   
to the alien artifact taken from Sevac III. The twisting, bulging,   
shifting mass held his eyes, teasing him with hints and mysteries   
he couldn't quite grasp.  
  
"Why that?" Niriz asked.  
  
"I need to study it further," Thrawn said. "The report of   
these strange creatures, these 'Nesz' and 'Eternals' intrigues me.   
Their art is truly amazing: it seems to combine youth and age,   
innocence and experience. This was made by a mind that sees the   
universe as new and fresh, yet holds the knowledge of millennia.   
A paradox, Admiral. I could never have predicted the natives   
would act as they did, overthrowing the Yuuzhan Vong and then   
calmly wait for their own extinction to follow. Why do that? Did   
they see their society as permanently corrupted by the violence   
they had partaken in? Did they simply not care if they lived or   
died? I cannot grasp them, and I truly regret their destruction."  
  
  
***  
  
  
"Understood, sir," Pellaeon said. "With your permission,   
I'll get the (Chimaera) underway." He turned to go-  
  
And paused. Halfway across the room, one of the   
sculptures had not disappeared with the others. Sitting all alone in   
its globe of light, it slowly writhed on its pedestal like a wave in   
some bizarre alien ocean. "Yes," Thrawn said from behind him.   
"That one is indeed real."  
  
"It's...very interesting," Pellaeon managed. The sculpture   
was strangely hypnotic.  
  
"Isn't it?" Thrawn agreed, his voice sounding almost   
wistful. "It was my one failure, out on the Fringes. The one time   
when understanding a race's art gave me no insight at all into its   
psyche. At least not at the time. Now, I believe I'm finally   
beginning to understand them."  
  
"I'm sure that will prove useful in the future," Pellaeon   
offered diplomatically.  
  
"I doubt it," Thrawn said, in that same wistful voice. "I   
wound up destroying their world."  
  
Pellaeon swallowed. "Yes, sir," he said, starting again for   
the door. He winced only a little as he passed the sculpture.  
  
  
  
  
-from 'Heir to the Empire' by Timothy Zahn 


End file.
